In the Shadow of the Father
by Sprite3
Summary: Diego's best friend returns to California, sent there by his dying French father. Mysterious clues have been left behind, secrets of the past are slowly revealed, and Diego must help his friend figure it all out before...
1. Chapter 1

_This story is based on the Disney Zorro series, which was set by its creators in the early 1820s. This is somewhat inaccurate, as Mexico became independent from Spain in 1820 and gained control of California at that time, and the TV series clearly shows California being under Spanish hegemony. I believe logic and movie references would set the story around the 1806-1809 period, right during the early years of the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815). Spain was also an ally of France in these wars until 1808, when it defected to join the coalition._

_This fanfic is set between episode 1x10 (where Garcia was thrown out of the army as a subterfuge to befriend Zorro) and episode 1x11 (where we meet Carlos Martínez, a skilled swordsman hired by Comandante Monastario to impersonate Zorro and rob the caballeros during a banquet)._

_**Disclaimer**: the usual, I don't own Zorro and his companions Bernardo, Monastario, Garcia, Pilar, Martínez, and Alejandro :)_

* * *

Antoine Garat took a deep breath and distractedly looked at the bustling harbor. La Princesa had docked at Monterey during sunset, and even though it was now dark, the people were busy as if it were the first hour of the day at the market. Merchants seemed eager to sell their food and trinkets to weary travelers, family members were welcoming with open arms the dear ones they had not seen for months or years, and busy dock workers were unloading the freight that had to be dispatched throughout California on some urgent missions which could not wait for morning.

The warm color of the torches and lamps gave an eerie look to all the nameless strangers, and Antoine suppressed with a yawn the sudden shiver that ran down his spine. He recognized no one, nobody was waiting for him, the Californian smells were strange, and the air was definitely too salty.

The soldier picked up his luggage and half-heartedly fought his way through the crowd, his tired muscles screaming for a warm bath and a comfortable bed. Antoine had the distinct feeling neither would be available in Monterey so late at night, so he set out for the nearest tavern, hoping he could at least grab some cheap wine and doze off in a corner for a few hours until sunrise.

A few steps behind, hidden in the shadows, a figure silently followed, intent on not losing sight of its target.

* * *

Cheers spilled out from the tavern windows as Pilar Fuentes fervently rattled her castañuelas. Her flamboyant dress swirled around her legs like an enraged creature, and the rapid, rhythmical steps of her shoes propelled the guitarists to play their chords in an excited, feverish manner. All in all, it was the best night Carlos Martínez was having for the past month, thanks to the beautiful creature in front of him. The señorita's presence alone had highlighted the boring time he was having in Monterey. However, the general effect she had on the male audience in the large open room was quite obvious, and Martínez was not liking the growing feeling of jealousy that was throbbing in his veins. He would certainly not let them get to her that easily.

These unexpected yet familiar possessive urges grabbed the impulsive man from time to time, whenever he saw something he coveted. It was simply too annoying to have others look at Pilar with desires that matched up his own. True to his burning temper, the tall man stood up and finished his wine in one gulp, wiping his chin with a dusty sleeve. A duel would ease his anger, and invigorate this dull neighborhood. One quick, determined glance across the room, and he spotted his target for tonight's merry fight.

The young brunet had an odd air to his looks. Though he was wearing the Spanish army uniform, his features did not seem to correspond to those of the young boys Martínez was used to see fresh off the boats from Spain. Maybe it was the broad forehead, the thin, aquiline nose, or the fact that he seemed rather lightly built for a soldier. The oddest thing about him was the fact that he was distractedly fiddling around with a worn pocket watch, staring at it with a dejected gaze. He paid absolutely no attention to the fiery dancer in the room.

The tall man smirked at the irony of the situation, and started pulling his sword in anticipation of the fight. Halfway through, a strong hand suddenly grasped his forearm and brutally stopped the motion. Growling, Martínez swirled around to have a look at the person who dared touch him in this fashion.

"Who—" he began, but the intensity of the glare in the stranger's eyes did not let him finish his question.

The abrupt silence was cut short by a disdainful sniff.

"Instead of picking on a tired soldier, you should seek a more interesting challenge, one that would match your... expertise," the stranger said, still holding his grip. "I hear there is this bandit in Los Angeles, skilled with the sword and quick of wit. He'd be an excellent match for you."

Martínez looked the man up and down. He couldn't quite recall having seen this crazy devil in Monterey before now. "Who says?" he snorted.

A smile full of teeth too white to be those of a commoner met Martínez's scornful expression, and the sword was slowly pushed back into its scabbard.

* * *

Antoine sat on the small wooden stool and looked at his father in silence. The lofty figure that was once Docteur Jacques Garat was now nothing more than a frail body lying on its deathbed. The sick man opened his eyes slowly when Antoine politely cleared his throat, and tried to hold up his hand in a greeting gesture.

"Antton..." he barely whispered, as another coughing fit overtook him. A nun rushed in to hold a handkerchief in front of his mouth, and wiped her patient's feverish forehead with a piece of humid cloth when his breathing became steady again.

The young soldier shuddered when he saw drops of blood splattered against the beige fabric in her hand. He had rushed to Bayonne as soon as he received the letter from Father Loustau, but he had no idea how severe his father's situation was. The letter had merely said that monsieur Garat had requested his son to be present for some urgent family matter. Antoine was thankful his superior had granted him a leave of absence from his duty in Pamplona on such a vague explanation, along with rights-of-way across the French border.

"Père... please do not try to speak, I—"

"Pshh, nonsense, Antton, I need to speak up before God calls me back for good," Jacques interrupted, a little too fast. He paused and then chuckled with a visible effort. "I see you've not lost your French yet, though I detect a thicker Spanish flavor to it."

In that moment, Antoine saw his father exactly like he was five years ago when they last talked to each other: arrogant, conceited, and unforgiving. It had been many years, yet the emotional wounds had not healed at all.

"I see you've not lost your French snobbish attitude yet, though I sense it's been mellowed with age," he snapped back. "Why do you keep calling me 'Antton' just now? You've always insisted so hard on using my French name when we lived in Spain. Now that we're both in France—"

"Shh..." Jacques gently grabbed his son's hand. "Mea culpa. I was just thinking of... your mother." The sick man looked away for a moment. Antoine recalled how his father had fought with his proud and beautiful Basque wife over their son's unique heritage. "Deiña loved that name. It was just not the... proper name to give you when you were baptized."

"Don't give me excuses, and don't get Mother involved, please." Antoine impulsively stood up and turned his back to his father, who had a knack to make him lose patience within seconds. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Aren't we going to have some father-and-son talk, the one where we are supposed to make up and all that? Or did I just come all the way up here to be told the same old stories over and over? I know them by heart!"

Antoine's angry voice echoed strangely in the small bedroom, which was devoid of all furniture except for the bed, the small seat, and a side table. He then realized the nun was still in the room, discreet and silent as all of them were. The young lady was avoiding his eyes but had a much harder time trying to ignore the loud conversation.

"Leave us, ma soeur, " the young man requested more gently, pulling on his blue uniform to regain some composure. "I think I can take care of my old man for a moment, and our family feuds are anything but interesting to the Church."

The girl thankfully nodded and left in a hurry. Antoine closed the door behind her and waited until he heard the steps no more before returning to the bedside.

An uneasy silence settled in the confined space. Jacques closed his eyes,

"What... what do you want from me?" Antoine finally asked in a controlled whisper, grabbing folds of the blanket into his angry fists in anticipation of how difficult the next minutes were going to be.

Drops of sweat ran along the doctor's temples. He spoke very slowly.

"I want you to go back to California."

* * *

Antoine was taken out of his reverie by the sudden turmoil in the tavern. He stood up with almost perfect timing as someone fell violently on his table and broke it in two, splashing wine all over the place. Blinking away the last shreds of thoughts from a recent past, Antoine put the watch back into the folds of his belt before lending a hand to help the fellow back on his feet.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice said loudly, and the whole room became suddenly quiet.

Ignoring the comment, Antoine pulled the victim up. The young, brown-haired man, who seemed roughly the same age as himself, nodded his thanks with a weak smile.

"Are you deaf, soldier?" the man spoke again. "I told you to—"

"I heard well the first time, señor," answered Antoine with feigned politeness, assessing his opponent. He was rather handsome and well dressed, a hidalgo perhaps. However his fierce glare and the sword at his side spelled nothing but trouble. "You have to agree that you can't keep fighting with a man when he is down. Last time I had a look at California, this was not a savage land, and pardon my saying so, but you do seem fit enough for a second round."

"Ha! What manner of speech is that?" he sneered at Antoine's faint accent. "Are you some Frenchman in a Spanish costume? A traitor maybe?"

Antoine felt his sleeve being pulled, and the man standing next to him whispered in his ear. "Careful, señor. Martínez is looking for trouble, any reason is good for him to have a fight."

The young man nodded. He guessed on this faraway continent he had to get used to the fact that the army was not as respected and feared as it was back in Spain. Sooner or later some idiot was bound to test a soldier's strength and patience, both of which Antoine has had in very small amounts in the past few months. Better step out of this one for the time being.

"I will buy you wine, señor, and be glad to tell you all about my 'manners of speech' to satisfy your curiosity," he carefully answered, extending open hands as an invitation. "Let's avoid breaking more tables, shall we?"

Martínez walked up to Antoine and flashed a wide smile a hair's-breadth away from his face. "Stop talking like an old woman, and tell me your story with a blade."

"I'm afraid my eloquence is rather poor in that language," the soldier replied with a neutral expression.

"I see... Then, maybe you'd rather chat with me using this!"

The punch came so fast Antoine had no chance of seeing it coming. It landed straight on his cheek and hurled him down and hard on the floor. It took the young man a few seconds before he could move his head around and focus on Martínez again. The devilish smile of the dark-skinned man was all gloat and no pity.

"Don't touch me, gentlemen," Antoine said, emphatically rubbing his throbbing jaw. "You might be in for the third round."

A few laughters erupted from the men that had gathered around to watch the fight.

"Get back on your feet, soldier," Martínez ordered loudly to cut them off.

"Only if you accept the wine I offered earlier, señor."

Martínez grabbed his sword's hilt with anger and spat on the ground. "I don't drink with wimps."

"Your loss," Antoine replied enigmatically.

His back still on the floor, he wriggled in the puddle of wine until he was able to extract a few coins from the pouch inside his jacket, and then threw them with an awkward gesture on the counter nearby.

"Wine for all those who dare drink with the wimps of this world!" he declared solemnly.

Cheers and thanks suddenly echoed in the tavern as the men raised their mugs to Antoine's health. He was helped back on his feet by a few, to the utter bewilderment and annoyance of Martínez.

"You may get away by buying a crowd, soldado..." he hissed, "...but you will hear from me again."

On those words the madman spit again in pure contempt, gave one last, hard look at Antoine, and left the tavern whispering curses and names between his teeth.

"I must thank you, señor, though you did let him get away with it," commented the man next to Antoine, examining both their dirty clothes.

"Dieu... This Martínez hits like a bull at the festival of San Fermín!" Antoine said to himself, holding his swollen cheek with his left hand, and extending the right. "Antoine Garat Elejalde, pleased to meet you," he added with a weak smile.

"Mateo Escudero, likewise," the man shook his hand. "How—"

"French father, Spanish mother," interrupted Antoine, who was used to get questions and inquisitive glances about his French name. "I was raised in Spain but could never get rid of that slight accent I got from my father."

Mateo chuckled. "I just wanted to ask how about I buy the wimp some wine so I can properly thank him for his help."

Antoine stared at the young man for a second and then let out a laugh. He immediately cringed from the pain in his jaw.

"It might just be the thing I need," he nodded. "Ha, have we met before?" he suddenly asked. Antoine could have sworn there was something oddly familiar in Mateo's eyes when he glanced at him, but he quickly shook the feeling off when his new companion dismissed his question with laughter.

Maybe it was someone he had seen long ago when he was still a child, a distant ghost from the past. He was bound to have that feeling from time to time, coming back to California after more than sixteen years.

* * *

Diego de la Vega finished reading the letter in silence, a concerned frown creasing his usually cheerful face. Bernardo patiently waited a few steps away, knowing his friend would surely explain its content in a moment. When he had initially brought the mail, Diego's smile had flashed instantaneously when he had recognized the writing style of who had written one of the letters. The parchment was eagerly opened, but as the caballero's eyes read more, he had to sit down, and the smile had slowly disappeared to be replaced by a troubled expression.

"This letter is from one of our good friends," Diego finally said, lost in thought. "You remember Tonio, don't you?"

Bernado nodded with a heartfelt smile. He indeed remembered very well. Diego had spent a lot of time with Antoine during his studies in Madrid. They had met during a friendly horseback riding competition between the university and the military academy, and quickly had become friends once they learned they had both been born in California, a couple of years apart.

Though Antoine had often been taken up by his intense military training, whereas Diego had had more leeway with his university schedule, they had managed to review some of their readings together, and practice fencing on some lazy afternoons when Antoine had been on leave. Most of their time together, however, had been spent hanging out at the tavern even if it had been strictly forbidden. Any excuse had been good for them to sneak out of their respective dormitories at night just to roam around the dirtiest neighborhoods of Madrid, and it was a miracle they never got caught. Bernardo knew Diego had learned most of his stealthy rogue tricks involving rooftops and balconies from that period of his life. He also remembered the sometimes horrible and stressful moments he had had trying to cover up for his friend, much like he was now doing with the Zorro persona.

Bernardo shook his head after a moment, mimicking a pout and emphasizing it with his forefinger.

"Bad news, yes. Tonio's father, Doctor Garat, passed away about six months ago. Antoine never really spoke of him back in Madrid, and this letter doesn't add any detail to their story I'm afraid," Diego explained. "Here's what he says: 'It was my father's last wish that I return to California, and to that effect I have been granted an assignment at the cuartel of Los Angeles by the Spanish Army'," Diego read out loud. "'I have just arrived in Monterey and would like to pay a visit to an old friend, if he would accommodate me for a few days before I report officially to the Comandante. With your help and support maybe I can start my military career anew on the continent, if such a thing is possible in this...'" Diego deliberately paused to take a breath. "...' lethargic city of yours. I have memories to share, if you can supply the wine you owe me.'"

Bernardo could not suppress his laugh, and Diego raised an eyebrow at his reaction. Antoine had always teased his friend by calling him a lazy caballero and a fat Californian, and a good many of those friendly quarrels had been concluded with Diego losing bets or ending up dirty and disheveled after a good skirmish.

The caballero finally managed to smile at the thoughtful wisecracks, and shook his head with a sigh.

"Bernardo, I am delighted I will see Tonio again, and I am sure my father will be happy to welcome him at our hacienda, but this may be troublesome for our friend Zorro and his little cover, don't you think?"

Indeed, nodded Bernardo with a frown. Antoine knew that Diego was skilled at fencing and never ran from a brawl, and he would never buy into this sudden turnaround to art, poetry and music.

Moreover, he would be reporting to Comandante Monastario. This may prove to be even more of a problem.

* * *

_Fanfic is a way for me to practice writing in English, my second language. I wrote this one as a warm up, in the hope that I can jump back into active writing, which I haven't done for many years, as well a join the beta reader team. Feel free to spot review any typos, mistakes, anything you liked or disliked. All feedback will be much appreciated AND considered. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_For those who may not have seen episode 1x10 or need a refresher, this is when Garcia wakes up and finds a flag with the letter "Z" raised on the cuartel's pole. Monastario gets mad and arrests two peasants for laughing at the situation, and then orders them to repair the stable roof with thirty buckets of pitch by the next morning, a task seemingly impossible since the puddle is so far out of town, else he puts them in prison._

_While Garcia and Monastario are sent out on a wild goose chase by Zorro, the latter returns to the cuartel and has a soldier bring all the required mud inside the Comandante's coach.__ He then goes back to Monastario and his men and has them chase him for a moment, until they stumble upon the mud pit and fall into it. Of course, they come back to the pueblo all dirty, and Diego is there to greet them and congratulate the Comandante for hiring such efficient workers, and for the amazing group effort put up for the repairs._

* * *

The sun had just risen over the majestic horizon, and the cool breeze of the night still clung around in vain attempts to stay alive in the Californian desert. Imelda stopped for a moment, clutching at her shawl, and took a deep breath to control the growing agitation of her thoughts. Jacques was dead, but part of him remained very much alive in this world. A woman could feel these hidden things, mute secrets waiting to be discovered, shadows cast by bright pretenses into which hid the smaller truths of life. She yearned to scream it all, to tell every one around her that she did not care about their puny lives, their useless, vain attempts at thriving in a crumbling society where money and weapons ruled.

True power did not simply come to those who had gold. It was owned by those who commanded the intangible human spirit, the one true drive of any human being. The Church had demonstrated how its grasp was strong in California, and how far it could reach. Just like this Zorro. With his actions he had breathed hope in the minds of many. Imelda could do, would do the same. She sensed her wait was coming close to an end.

The woman's eyes searched the ground with an uncanny precision, acquired through years of practice. She walked carefully on the unstable pebbles, trying to leave the land and its scarce life undisturbed.

Among the elongated shadows created by the early morning sun, the signs suddenly appeared, as she had left them the last time she had been in this remote area, years ago. Imelda's breath accelerated with anticipation. She bent her knees and looked inside a minuscule cranny, and sure enough, the red flower was there, bathing in the first rays of light. Carefully pinching the rare blossom into her fingers, she plucked it out, making sure to leave the perennial well rooted. The small treasure was then safely put away in a glass vial.

Imelda sighed. Patience indeed had its rewards.

* * *

The small crowd had already left the graveyard some time ago, after Father Lousteau's short speech. Only Gaspar had faithfully remained behind. Antoine found the stubbornness of his father's lifelong attendant upsetting. He had a hard time believing one could possibly work for so many years with such an arrogant character, without one word of complaint. Nonetheless, he had secretly envied the old man's patience, and the relationship he had had with the one person he had seemingly never been able to please.

They both stood in silence in front of the dark casket, as the large clouds of the grayish day were blown away by the strong winds coming from the sea. An hour passed in this fashion, both men lost in their inner turmoil and groping for a meaning to this juncture in their lives, until the sky finally cleared up and the sun shone upon their pale faces.

"'Tis a sign, young master," the old man muttered. "It is gone, yes, I believe so."

Antoine frowned. "Yes, he is gone."

"Ah oui, the Docteur is gone, but it is also gone, I know it is."

"What are you talking about, Gaspar?" Antoine was worried the death of Jacques Garat might have affected his servant more than he had thought.

"You must not go to California, young master," he said, grabbing Antoine's hands in sudden concern.

"What? How—"

"I tell you, stay here, safe," he insisted more strongly.

"Look," said Antoine, pulling his hands out and reaching for something in his vest. "Father surely told you about his desire for me to return to California, and I understand this is not a trip you would be able to make one last time in your life. Here, take this," he said, handing the old man a pouch. "There should be enough to allow you to live your last years as you please, and you may stay in my father's—"

"Ah, 'tis thoughtful, but I have no need for it," Gaspar gently shook his head. "My obligations have been fulfilled, the last word has been sent. I can rest in peace."

The old man crossed himself and put his hat on. "Do not think of me any more, young soldier, but yourself. Someone be waiting for you in that other land, 'tis not what you think..."

* * *

"Daydreaming, aren't you? What's the lady's name?" Mateo asked in a playful tone, as he pulled the reins to stop the small carriage near a small pond close to the road.

"What? No, there isn't... Why are we stopping?" asked Antoine, visibly confused and unable to hide the fact that he had actually dozed off, again. The regular pace of their traveling had made the soldier fall asleep on more than one occasion since their departure from Monterey. Antoine was wearier than he cared to admit, but his tiredness would surely go away if he could just get one good night's sleep without thinking of his father's death. He hoped seeing his friend Diego would change his mood for the better.

"This is Mission San Luis Obispo," Mateo explained, pointing the small cluster of buildings ahead of them by the road. "I have a small delivery to make. I'll grab something to eat and some refreshments... and frankly," he said while jumping off, "I really need to stretch my legs."

Mateo grabbed a small chest from the back of the carriage, put it on his shoulder, and set out for the mission.

"You can wait for me here, I won't be long. The frailes grow some nice fruit here, I'm sure you'll love them."

"Sure thing," replied Antoine, climbing down as well. Despite his eagerness to get to Los Angeles, this short break was a nice idea after all.

Stretching arms and back while watching the horses drink from the pond, Antoine smiled. Meeting Mateo at the tavern had been one lucky event. The young man happened to be on the end of his business trip in Monterey, and had offered his new friend a ride all the way back to his home in Los Angeles. Mateo had been good company so far, and had made the trip much less tedious than it would have been on horseback. Sometimes, life had a way of being generous in its own way, even though it could be cruel in others.

Antoine distractedly pulled his pocket watch out of his belt, and stared at it some more, letting the sun's rays reflect on its scratched metallic cover. The object fascinated him but he had never really understood why. It had been his mother's wedding present to her husband long ago, when they married in California. He remembered, as a child, how he liked to stare at the ticking hands, and even more vividly how, shortly after his mother's death, the watch had stopped working, as if her life had been directly linked to the object.

It was peculiar that his father had always refused to get it repaired, for as long as Antoine could recall. Although the doctor had never been superstitious in nature, this had been one of his odd ideas for a keepsake, and one of his other strange wishes that it be kept that way.

Without thinking, Antoine opened the lid, and read out loud the finely engraved inscription inside it: "'A mi amor, D.'," upon which something reflected inside the smooth surface, and a bright flash blinded him for a second. Instinctively, Antoine spun on his heels and reached for his sword, which had unfortunately been left in the carriage nearby.

"Buenos días, Martínez," he greeted, holding back the curse he had been about to utter. Antoine could hardly believe the man had been following him for days over such a trifle matter as the confrontation they had had at the tavern in Monterey.

"We have unfinished business, soldado," the other smiled, his sword already drawn.

Throwing a quick look around, Antoine realized he could not really call for help, being out of ear's range from the mission. Honor also demanded that he should not. Better solve this thing here and now, once and for all.

The soldier purposely let out a heavy sigh and shrugged as he put the watch back in his belt.

"Great timing, amigo. Are you going to run me through on the spot, or shall we play to make this little game worthwhile for at least a moment?"

Martínez laughed heartily. He grabbed the scabbard left in the carriage, and threw it on the ground at his opponent's feet.

"Entertain me, that's all I ask, chico."

Antoine leisurely picked it up and unsheathed his weapon, pointing it down in a lazy fashion. He then saluted in the traditional way.

"En garde, m'sieur."

Martínez lost no time with ethics, and lunged forward like a mad bull to intimidate his adversary. Antoine had expected no less of him, and moved aside at the last moment to let the man stumble further and lose his balance.

"Olé!" he exclaimed with sarcasm.

Anger flashed in Martínez's eyes, but it died away within seconds as he suddenly composed himself and put up his blade for the next round. He would not be fooled again.

Having no idea about his opponent's fencing skills, Antoine chose a defensive stance, letting the tall man gain ground as he pleased. He slowly made his way backward around the carriage, expertly parrying and dodging every single attack thrown at him. Martínez was relentless though, and the tip of his sword slowly transformed into a hundred snakes trying to frantically bite him all at once.

The soldier realized a bit too late that he had probably made the wrong choice by only defending himself without attacking at the beginning of the duel. He tried to lunge forward and get back some confidence in his drive, but his lines were weaker than his assailant's. Martínez had sensed it as well, and allowed a cocky smile to grow slowly but steadily on his face.

Diego had purposely played with Antoine once in this manner, exploiting a tendency the military man had to occasionally take too much time in judging his opponent. "Pass! Coupé! Doublé! Flick! Indirect! Flèche! Press! Remise! Croisé! Froissement! Thrust!" Antoine remembered well every single word Diego had yelled at him on that day. While the soldier had tried to maintain his ground and find an opening to lunge forward and deal the perfect blow, the caballero had merely named and made up every possible attack he could think of. He had not been pompous but had made a point of letting his friend know how much he was predictable and easier to defeat in letting himself be won over for too long.

Antoine, a nonetheless skilled fencer in his own right, had never been angry or lost patience with Diego, but on that day he had been very disappointed at not being as good as his best friend, and for not being more impulsive in style. Now and then, one had to dash forward and tempt the unknown as well, and not just rely on a lucky shot while stalling and losing precious seconds.

"No crowd to get you out of this one, eh, soldado!" Martínez teased, visibly happier by the second with the direction this duel was heading to. Antoine was getting more and more exhausted, and he blamed his lack of sleep for not having a better stamina. Martínez was a ferocious opponent, and seemed to enjoy displaying his great skills with the sword. No wonder he was on the lookout for any kind of challenge.

The tired soul went on dodging and parrying, hoping something would come up soon to tip the balance back in his favor.

* * *

The proud Comandante of Los Angeles sat in his leather chair, reading reports about recent bandit attacks that occurred near the pueblo's farms over the last few days. He scratched his finely trimmed beard and closed his eyes, pondering whether or not the Spanish Army should intervene. If local farmers and Indians got scared, or even killed, it meant they could possibly leave their lands and try to settle somewhere else. More lands for the grabbing meant more money for himself in the long term, if he acted rapidly after their departure, and used some far-fetched reasoning from the local laws to take possession of the precious fields. His lancers could always deal with the scums later on.

On the other hand, the people paid taxes to have protection, an annoying obligation if there was one standing in the way to personal wealth. Taxes were great, but it meant something had to seemingly be done to justify their existence, especially if higher ones were to be raised later on. How irritating indeed.

There was also the matter of Zorro, who could take it upon himself to deal with the bandits, and destroy his hope of grabbing those lands from the farmers, while becoming even more popular with the locals. He would look like the hero, in stead of the Comandante. Even more irritating.

Enrique Sanchez Monastario let out an infuriated growl and violently threw the documents on his desk. A mere thought about the fox was enough to destroy his good mood, and thanks to him any scheme he could think of seemed to become a dead end the minute it was born.

To make things even worse, there was Diego de la Vega, the snobbish dandy who had nothing better to do than nose around in his business, and make appearances when he was less than welcome. Just yesterday, his unsought remarks about the rooftop repairs, and his arrogant smile when he saw him covered with mud after chasing Zorro without result, haunted the Comandante's angry thoughts.

Adding those facts to the insane risks Zorro took to protect Don Alejandro when the latter was found leading a rebellion with the caballeros, and Diego's strange and unexplained absence from his father's trial... The name of de la Vega _had_ to be linked to Zorro in some fashion, it was just too perfect a scenario to discard. There ought to be some way to make Zorro or Diego commit a mistake and be done with this masquerade, once and for all.

"Garcia!" yelled the Comandante to vent some of his frustration. If anything, the fat, clumsy sergeant was useful is his own way. It took a few seconds, but sure enough the heavy steps were heard, and the door was promptly opened.

"Capitán!" saluted Garcia with embarrassment, unable to conceal the fact that he was wearing only one boot and an unbuttoned uniform.

Monastario rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Sergeant, I want you to assemble a small group of men and search the local farms for any trace of those bandits who attacked our lands. Interrogate the farmers and let it be known that we are going to deal with this problem with our best means... 'Best means' being an euphemism for this sad lot of men under my command!"

"Sí, Capitán! On my way!" the sergeant nodded, disappearing as quickly as he had come so that the Comandante would have no time to comment on his rather sloppy attire.

Monastario sighed again and shook his head, dismissing the utter dismay he always felt when he looked at his soldiers. He sat back in his chair and picked the next document on the pile.

"Ah, yes," he muttered with a frown, his thoughts switching to a new subject. Corporal Garat was due to report at the cuartel, coming straight from Spain off La Princesa, which had docked a few days ago in Monterey. Monastario was very curious about the reasons this man had picked such a distant assignment, especially after looking at his impressive qualifications. He had the honors of being among the first men to join the newly founded Academia de Ingenieros in Madrid, and he finished in the top ten of his class with distinctions in military history, strategy, and cavalry. Why would someone with this background decide to run away from it all, when glory and honor were to be gained in Europe thanks to all those wars?

Monastario made a mental note to find answers to his questions the moment the young man would report in. He could prove to be a useful fellow in his hunt for Zorro, and add some skills to the rather disappointing pool of applicants around the Los Angeles area.

A sudden knock on the door made the Comandante jump abruptly.

"What?" he screamed unceremoniously.

The door opened to reveal Sergeant Garcia, who had not yet found the time to dress up properly.

"Sorry, Capitán, a lady is here to see you," he mumbled nervously, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't—"

The Comandante did not find the words to finish his sentence. A woman pushed the sergeant aside and entered the office without proper invitations. She headed straight for the desk and irreverently sat on its corner, the large folds of her elegant red dress pushing the papers aside. She unfolded a fan and locked her gaze with Monastario's, who could not help but gape open mouthed.

"Sergeant!"

"Yes, Capitán?"

"What is _this_?!" Monastario pointed in anger at the woman, who had a mischievous sparkle to her eyes.

"It's a woman, mi Capitán," the sergeant replied as a matter of fact.

"I _know_ it's a woman, baboso!"

"Oh, my dear Sergeant, would you please leave us for a moment?" the woman interrupted with a smile. "We need to discuss some private things, he and I."

"What!" Monastario was fuming, but could not help staring at the daring creature sitting on his desk.

"Capitán?" inquired Garcia, unsure of what to do.

"Stand outside and close the door, Sergeant," he finally ordered with a tightly controlled voice.

The woman looked delighted and giggled her appreciation, and she waved at Garcia with her fan in a playful manner as he walked out of the office.

Monastario grunted and pulled on his uniform, annoyed and embarrassed at not being able to control the situation.

"Comandante, will you forgive me? I really needed to talk to you about—"

"Who are you!" he asked bluntly.

"Oh," the woman blinked and laughed. She folded her fan with an expert twist of her wrist. "Are you mad at me? I did barge into your office, Comandante."

"Who-are-you!" he repeated, feeling the hot pressure of impatience rising in his temples.

"My, anger does add color to your handsome features. I hope this puts you into a favorable disposition to hear me out."

Monastario was about to yell for Sergeant Garcia, but the woman delicately put her fan on his lips to prevent him from doing so. Her voice became a soothing whisper.

"I, Imelda Escudero Galván, need your help to find a treasure, dear Comandante."

* * *

_Thanks for the reviews and for reading chapter two! Hope you are still enjoying it :)_


	3. Chapter 3

Bernardo was lying comfortably on the ground, hands crossed behind his head, enjoying a peaceful afternoon while munching on a long blade of grass. The mission was quite a serene place, and if it were not for the fact that he was expecting Don Alejandro to be back in a few moments, Bernardo might have slumbered the rest of the afternoon away.

Initially, Diego's friend had felt guilty for leaving him behind in Los Angeles all by himself, especially after hearing about those rumors of bandit attacks at the farms. Zorro would surely be roaming about to take care of these men, and Bernardo would have been glad to help in any way. However, Diego had insisted that Bernardo accompany his father to the mission, adamant in his belief that his servant needed some time off his duty to Zorro.

It so happened that Don Alejandro was visibly glad of the company, even though it was one that could not partake in any conversation whatsoever. The old man, uneasy at first with a deaf and dumb person at his side, had warmed up to Bernardo's presence after a few hours of traveling. He started talking about stories of his youth, some childhood anecdotes concerning his only son, and he even mentioned his deceased wife Chiquita. Bernardo was amazed at how talkative the old man was, unaware that ears were swallowing each one of his words without really wanting to.

Bernardo, upon hearing some of the tales, could not suppress a silent laugh now and then. Don Alejandro, first surprised at these reactions, dismissed the behavior with a pat on his mute companion's shoulder, probably on the account that Bernardo was only reacting in a natural way to his own smile and laughter.

The servant was a little disappointed at having to carry out this act in front of the old don, a feeling probably akin to Diego's own shame at lying to his father. He felt bad for listening to all these stories, which Alejandro might not have so honestly told if he had known Bernardo could hear very well.

And sooner than later, the mute man thought with a frown, this situation would get even more complicated.

"Bernardo... where are you?" the servant heard from afar. However, he did not move one inch and kept his eyes closed. Don Alejandro was fumbling around, looking for his companion, until he found him lying under the tree next to the church. Bernardo felt a steady gaze being cast on him, but stayed still with some effort.

"Diego was right... You did need a vacation. Poor Bernardo," he said with a soft laugh, bending down to gently pat the man's shoulder.

Bernardo jumped as if he were startled, and tried to look embarrassed while running to the carriage. As he had expected, the don laughed, gaily teasing him, and the servant discreetly chuckled as he groped for the mule's bridle while the old man climbed into the vehicle.

"Fray Luiz was quite happy with the cattle we brought, Bernardo. The two bovines will provide them with much needed help for farming the land around here. I also... met..."

Don Alejandro trailed off, and Bernardo acted as if he didn't notice while he unfastened the tether. When he turned around, he saw the old man squint his eyes as he looked at something into the far distance. Bernardo's gaze followed the don's, and he too saw it after a few seconds. Small clouds of dust were seen at the horizon, but they did not grow bigger as one would expect if a rider were coming towards the mission.

Alejandro frantically gestured for Bernardo to climb in, and he turned the carriage around.

"Let's check it out," he muttered to himself, eyes kept onto the conspicuous bright flashes coming from the same area.

As they came closer, Bernardo heard the distinct sound of blades clashing, the sunlight occasionally reflecting on them. When Don Alejandro parked the carriage a short distance away from the nearby pond, it became quite clear to both men that a fight had been going on for some time. The two adversaries were quite dusty and panting, and the taller one was visibly winning, though the soldier whom he was pressing back and compelling to retreat had not yet given up and seemed uninjured.

Alejandro jumped down the carriage in a swift motion, his face clearly showing his intent to leap to the rescue as he grabbed his sword's hilt.

"Halt, señores!" he yelled with a stentorian voice, surprising everyone including Bernardo.

The soldier turned around to look at the incoming stranger, and Bernardo gaped dumbfounded, instantly recognizing Diego's friend from Spain. This was none other than Antoine! However, the young man had obviously not seen Bernardo, busy as he was staring at the imposing caballero while keeping a check on his opponent.

"Stay back, old man, this is a duel good and proper, not to be interrupted!" the dark-skinned man declared.

Don Alejandro grunted, manifestly torn between duty and honor.

"If His Majesty's soldier confirms so, I swear I will not interrupt your quarrel," he finally said after a pause. Bernardo understood how Don Alejandro tried to open a door for Antoine to request help, since a duel would normally have seconds, and there were obviously none present.

Anger flashed in the tall man's eyes, but he kept silent, waiting for Antoine to give his answer.

"I... Yes...Proper..." the young man replied, breathing heavily. Bernardo could tell from his sunken eyes and tired looks that he would not last much longer, but he officially refused Don Alejandro's help, too proud to bail out on this duel for unknown reasons.

The furious man did not waste a moment to jump back on Antoine, resuming their intense swordplay without hesitation.

Bernardo bit his lower lip in anxiety, unable to stand in place and watch without doing something to help his friend. Don Alejandro's eyes were fixed on the fight, so he did not notice the servant climb down the carriage and run toward the duel.

"Bernardo, no!" Don Alejandro yelled.

With one hasty and agile motion, Bernardo effectively put himself between the two fighting men, avoiding their blades while pushing them away from each other.

"What is this idiota doing!"

"Do not hurt my servant, señores, he is deaf and dumb!" Alejandro yelled, stepping forward to drag him out of the fight.

Yes, Bernardo thought. He was supposed to be deaf, why not act it all the way through? He stood still, not budging one bit though he felt his shoulder being pulled back.

"Bernardo... What? You... here?" Antoine whispered, his dilated eyes locking with his friend's for a moment.

Don Alejandro was about to say something, but he was cut short when the tall man's sword hissed pass his face in a quick thrust. It was pulled back with a swift motion, and Bernardo saw Antoine grab his shoulder, his face contorted from the pain of his wound.

"You swore _not_ to interfere, old man! Grab your stupid manservant and begone!"

Bernardo was distressed by his friend's condition. He shook his head in despair, as Alejandro firmly yanked him back to a safe distance.

"I beg of you, señores, stop this duel, the soldier is wounded. Are you fighting to the death?" the don asked, the same feeling of anguish audible in his question.

"Are we, soldado?" the man asked with a laugh, mockingly pointing the tip of his sword at Antoine's heart.

The young soldier fell down on one knee, his body seemingly unable to cope with his wound and tiredness. Bernardo's heart sunk at the same time.

* * *

Monastario may have been in a foul mood not so long ago, but he was now merrily laughing, and he could even feel the tears forming at the bottom of his eyes. He gasped for some time until he could control his mirth, then carefully wiped his eyes with his little finger. He finally took a deep breath to try and make sure he would not have another laughing fit.

"I am glad to be an object of ridicule to you, Comandante."

The soldier looked up to his offended guest, his face now serious as if nothing had happened. He put a hand to his heart as though hurt by the accusation.

"Señora Escudero, you will have to forgive me, I am but surprised that you would bring such concerns to me personally," Monastario declared as he bowed slightly. "I have to be honest with you. This is the first time I hear of such an unusual... story, and my rather practical mind has a difficult time grasping the scope of this matter."

Of course, the mere mention of a treasure had kindled the Comandante's curiosity more than his anger, but when the señora had mentioned that the fabled loot she was looking for was _cursed_, his reaction had been instantaneous.

"What needs to be done then, so that you believe it?" the woman said, fanning herself and trying to hide her pout by turning her back to the officer.

"Well... some sort of _proof_ would surely support your case in a solid manner, Señora," he replied, containing his amusement behind false humility. "I would also like to know why you are requesting my help, as I understand the Church might be more of assistance with this issue than a mere soldier such as myself."

"This is where you are wrong, Comandante," the woman suddenly purred, brushing aside in one slow sweep all the documents sitting on the desk.

Monastario felt his fury boiling again. He hated it when people touched his things and did not respect authority so blatantly. However, the volcano of angry words he was about to blurt out was kept in check by one little pouch that Señora Escudero gently put down in the middle of the desk.

"What is this?" he finally asked after a long pause.

"The proof you seek," the señora gestured with her fan.

The Comandante looked at her, wondering what kind of trick she was trying to pull on him. He picked up the silken pouch and unfastened its string. The object was so light it could just have been empty. With a sigh, Monastario poured the content in his left hand.

As if the whole scene had been staged, the small pierced earring dropped right in the middle of his palm, the gem inlaid in its gold frame breaking into a hundred sparkles the afternoon sunlight that was coming in through the window.

Upon closer examination and careful scrutiny, Monastario could not find any clue or flaw that would hint at the gem being an imitation. The diamond, if real, was a pure beauty, and its pale blueish color was a sure hint at its value and rarity.

The Comandante brought up his gaze to the señora once more, trying to keep his face a perfect expression of neutrality.

"I fail to see how this earring would hint at the existence of a treasure, or of its alleged curse, Señora," he declared, unsure of what to think of this new fact.

"Well... How shall I put this... " She smiled, grabbing his hand and closing his fingers around the piece of jewelry.

"Ha! Whatever is going on with your 'curse', señora, it will not work!" Monastario smiled, trying to detect what was behind the woman's thoughts. The only curse he knew of was real flesh and blood, and it was this damn curse of Capistrano, who could never refrain from stamping every wall in Los Angeles with a 'Z' wherever he went. Zorro, the curse of his career, destroyer of uniforms, and supreme annoyance.

"Ow!" Monastario suddenly swore, jerking his hand back and dropping the earring, a sudden burning sensation stinging the inside of his hand.

Señora Escudero caught the jewelry before it hit the desk, and shook her head, a crooked smile lighting her face. She quickly put it back in the pouch.

"Tut tut! Comandante, please be careful with my belongings!"

"What is this trickery!"

The officer rubbed his hand against his uniform, but the burning remained the same. When he examined his palm, he could see the redness and some swelling.

"A mere hindrance in the way to profit. A treasure cursed by a doctor, husband of a beautiful lady, after her tragic death at the hands of an incurable disease... Something I am sure you could not care less about, dear Comandante, though I felt the need to warn you about it. Here," she added, standing up and walking to the table where a bottle had been left. "Have some wine, it will help dull the pain of your hand."

As the señora poured the liquid into a cup, Monastario was trying to collect his thoughts into something coherent. Curses were stories to make children scared, they were most certainly not things of this material world. Yet, the pain was real, and its cause unexplained. As far as he knew, diamonds never burned anyone before.

"Señora," the Comandante smiled, his countenance back to perfection. "I am afraid I still do not understand how I am to be linked to your treasure hunt, and how I could be of help."

"My, Comandante, haven't you read the full curriculum of the soldiers under your command?"

"Are you hinting there is something about one of them I am not aware of?" he frowned, unsure of what Señora Escudero meant by this allusion, and how she could know about his men's background.

"Unlike most fairy tales, Comandante, ours has real characters. The couple I mentioned earlier... are none other than soldier Garat's parents."

Something odd about Señora Escudero's aura shone at the mention of this name, but Monastario simply smiled at her and sipped at his wine.

* * *

Carlos Martinez was mad even though he was sneering. It did not work out as planned at all. His opponent was quite pigheaded, not giving up even though he was pretty much beaten. The man in Monterey was right when he had said the young soldier was tired, but he had not really seen the stubbornness behind his seemingly weaker constitution. The fight had simply lasted longer than expected.

With the sudden appearance of those two strangers, it made things even worse. Martinez thought they would have left them be, but the caballero sense of honor was too strong in the old man for just that to have happened. With things as they were now, the plan would just not work out in any way.

Martinez craved challenges and had rarely been defeated in duels, and though his own sense of honor was probably crooked in most people's eyes, he still would not kill a man on his knees for sports. The young boy in front of him had been able to defend himself, but Martinez felt through the exchange of thrusts that the soldier could do much better if he were in top condition. Thus, with a mixture of gloat and regret, he pushed his sword back in its scabbard.

"Too bad, chico, now we've got to reschedule this thing," Martinez said, the smile now gone from his face. "Your two friends here can bear witness that I ask for a rematch, once you'll have taken care of that scratch. I know you can do better than that, and I find it most insulting that would not give it your all during a duel."

He spat on the ground and whistled. A moment later, hoofbeats were heard and a horse came running toward the small group.

"I don't even know if I should thank you for sparing a life today, señor," the old man said, as he gestured for his servant to help the soldier back on his feet.

Martinez laughed out loud as he climbed on the saddle. He thought maybe he could spark up the situation a bit, since it hadn't turned out as expected anyways.

"It depends. Maybe the soldado would prefer to cross blades with the other one on his trail since Monterey, though that would be a setback for our little rematch. What say you, nameless Frenchman?"

The soldier stared at him, the hint of a smile shining in his tired eyes.

"I hope you will at least spare me the effort of finding you, Martínez, I've certainly got better things to do with my time," he said with a grunt.

Martínez chuckled at the comment. In a strange way, he liked the boy's attitude.

"Hasta luego!" he finally said, tipping his hat as he suddenly spurred his mount with his heels. He was most definitely looking forward to fight again, without a doubt. In the meantime, he would try and find out where Pilar would be performing her dances tonight.

* * *

Right hand close to her chest, Imelda walked in ladylike fashion out of the cuartel, escorted by the imposing Sergeant Garcia whom she duly ignored. She was hoping that the Comandante had not detected her weakness when she mentioned the name of Garat. Under many circumstances, she had been able to play all kinds of roles, like she just did with Monastario, but that one flaw in her performance could very well upset her crafty scheme.

Jacques still had a very powerful effect on her. She could not simply dismiss the flow of emotions she felt when she first read Gaspar's terse letter announcing his death, and the parchment still showed proof that she had shed a few tears upon its lecture. Those tears had surprised her tremendously, as if they had been a stranger's. Imelda had thought she had put this whole story behind her, but things from the past were still haunting Los Angeles in a subtle manner.

"Ay, perdone!" Imelda heard as a strong hand grabbed her gently to stabilize her. The young man who had bumped into her smiled shyly as he picked up the book he had just dropped. Back into character, Imelda opened her fan and hid her chuckle, waiting for the proper apologies.

"This is most definitely my fault, Señora, I should not be reading while I stroll in the pueblo. I hope you do accept my humble excuses," he politely said with a honest smile, grabbing the hand she was offering.

"I most certainly do, considering the pleasure I have of gazing at such a charming young man," she replied with a giggle. "To whom do I have the honor?"

"Diego de la Vega, Señora," he said, kissing her hand. "I am afraid I have to excuse myself a second time. I cannot recall ever seeing your beautiful smile in Los Angeles."

Imelda giggled again, taking another look at the gentleman who seemed so eloquent with the ladies. Don Alejandro de la Vega's son was certainly a man who could make many señoritas faint with his mere presence, yet she intuitively sensed there was something more troubling to his contained, polished behavior.

"I am Imelda Escudero Galván. Pleased to meet Don Alejandro's unique son."

"Señora, are you acquainted with my father?" he asked, surprised.

"He and my husband, Don Tomás Escudero, knew each other, a long time ago. But those are old stories which would not interest a young caballero such as you, Señor de la Vega," Imelda said, brushing her fan lightly against Don Diego's left cheek. The young man did not look like one who would blush, but he did. How amusing.

"Well..." he hesitated. "The pleasure was mine, Señora Escudero."

"Send my regards to your father, " Imelda said with a nod as Don Diego took his leave. With interest, she watched him walk to the cuartel with decided steps, his bearing somewhat different from that of the young intellectual he was a few moments ago. The Comandante of Los Angeles would probably be having a second encounter with one who pretended to be someone else.

Imelda turned around and walked away from the plaza, distractedly fanning herself to provide relief from the thick afternoon heat.

* * *

_Don't worry about Zorro... he will be coming up pretty soon! :)_

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"Mamá?"

"Yes, Antton."

"Are you still going to be there for me when the baby comes?"

"Of course, honey! Mamá will be there for you both!" she laughed, lightly brushing the boy's messy hair.

Antoine had no idea what was funny about what he said, but he hugged his mother, her laughter making his worry go away. There was no better place to be than in the big bed between Mamá and Papá, inside this indestructible fortress of comfort bathing in the morning sun that was entering the bedroom through the window.

"How are you feeling today, Deiña?"

"Good, Jacques, I feel good. I just wish I could walk around and get rid of that upset stomach."

"Papá! Can I help you check Mamá and Ofelia? Can I?" Antoine suddenly said as he jumped out of the bed.

"Ofelia?" he said, raising an eyebrow at the name as he too got out of bed. Deiña laughed again.

"Our Antton is now convinced he's going to have a little sister."

"Yes, and we're going to name her Ofelia! She will be the most beautiful lady of California, just like Mamá!" Antoine beamed, as he clumsily pulled his father's watch out of the drawer.

"Son, you are right about that: your mother _is_ the most beautiful lady of California," Jacques acknowledged, kissing his wife on the lips.

Antoine watched closely as his father, now acting like the doctor, palpated his mother's large belly. After a few nods, he picked up the watch the boy had been holding up, and gently touched his wife's wrist to check the heartbeat. Antoine put his small hand against his mother's forehead.

"No fever this morning, Papá," he declared solemnly.

"Aye, Antoine. So what is the prescription for today?" he asked, as he gently pressed Deiña's neck on both sides.

"Mamá has to stay in bed and drink peppermint tea, and eat the soup I'm going to prepare with Gaspar and Nina! Then she will be strong again, right?"

"With you two watching my every move, how could I not be?" Deiña smiled at her son.

Jacques frowned as he pulled a small glass bottle from the night table. He brought the neck close to his wife's lips.

"Here, magnesia should help your stomach."

Deiña coughed lightly after swallowing, visibly disgusted by the taste. Antoine jumped back in the bed and stroked his mother's cheek lightly to soothe her, just like she always does when he has trouble falling asleep. His tiny fingers then wandered through the long black curls of her hair

"Mamá, you won't stay sick for much longer, right?"

"Everything will be all right, honey, don't worry," she replied.

* * *

"I think you will be all right, señor, I wouldn't worry. The wound doesn't seem too serious," the old man said after a close examination.

Antoine had been forced to lie on his back after Bernardo had taken off his uniform coat. The injury Martínez had inflicted on his shoulder was making him feel nauseous, and the only thing that kept him from fainting was his pride, though the stinging shards of pain every time he tried to move were difficult to ignore, as well as one very odd and unexplained presence.

"Bernardo... how on earth did you end up in the middle of _my_ duel?!" Antoine asked with a cringe as he tried to sit up straight while keeping pressure on his bleeding wound.

Bernardo seemed to pause for a moment, and then shook his head. An uneasy silence settled between the three men.

"If I may, señor," the white haired man said after clearing his throat. "I am Don Alejandro de la Vega, and this is my companion Bernardo, though I wonder how you already seem to know him."

"Corporal Antoine Garat Elejalde," Antoine declared. "I, in turn, wonder how I could make a better first impression on my best friend's father. Do you think you could close your eyes and imagine me in a dashing, properly cleaned uniform, as if none of this had ever happened?"

The look on Don Alejandro's face was worth a thousand reales as he went from confusion to disbelief to recognition. Antoine winked at Bernardo when he saw him discreetly grin, but he managed to keep a straight face at the caballero still staring at him.

"You... Diego's... I... " the don muttered, but his train of thought was interrupted by the rapid steps of someone running towards them. Antoine turned his head around, but immediately regretted it as he fought another sudden wave of nausea. The afternoon heat was definitely becoming unbearable in his current condition.

"What... what happened?" the panting newcomer asked.

The soldier recognized Mateo's worried voice as he dropped on his knees next to him, just in time to catch his head before it hit the ground.

"Friends, Mateo..." Antoine said with a smile, unable to make his dizziness go away.

"Yes, we met at the mission. What happened? How...? Who...?"

"A man was dueling with Corporal Garat when we arrived," answered Don Alejandro. "I do not know the reason of their fighting, but this Martínez seemed rather intent on—"

"Martínez?! Are you serious?" Mateo exclaimed.

Antoine chuckled at Mateo's reaction, whose expression turned to worry as he put the back of his hand on his forehead, and stared at the blood dripping from his shoulder.

"He's running a fever."

The soldier could not stop laughing. He was tired, hurt, his legs felt heavy like stone, and the damn sun would just not stop blinding him and making him feel hot.

"I'm fine, señores, see?" Antoine said as he tried to push himself into a sitting position, without success.

"Don't move, idiota," Mateo said as he ripped the soldier's shirt to make bandages.

"All right, Capitán. By the way... Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Someone is following us, or so I hear from our good friend Martínez."

Mateo stopped dead in his track for a moment, an indefinable expression freezing his face. He then resumed his task of bandaging, as Bernardo knelt close by with a canteen.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said while he finished wrapping the shoulder with the white cloth.

"Let's carry him to the cart," Alejandro nodded to Bernardo, who took Antoine's right arm as the old don pulled on the other.

The soldier tried to steady himself on his legs, but the sudden change of position made him lose his balance, and only the strong grip of both men kept him up. Antoine winced from the pain in his shoulder, and as everything became darkness, he finally let himself slip into the comfort of unconsciousness.

* * *

A thin smoke seeped through the crumbling walls of the old adobe house. In the center of the main room, there was a hole in the dirt floor, into which large leaves spread on red hot coals were slowly burning, filling the air with their thick scent. A disheveled woman dressed in dirty garments sat close by, slowly breathing in and out, her eyes closed. Her thoughts were wandering here and there, but she could make no sense of them. She patiently waited, knowing full well one could not govern these things on a whim.

As it took a life of its own, the vision started to present more coherent flashes. Young Antoine, crying and screaming. Angry Jacques, his fists tight, biting his lower lip, unable to utter a word. Beautiful Deiña, peacefully lying in a crude casket. Unfathomable Gaspar, watching faithfully over the desperate family, hands resting on the shoulders of his adopted daughter.

The woman frowned, looking for a sign. These images she had seen many times, there must be some hidden meaning behind all of those familiar memories. She inhaled deeply, trying to focus on one of the characters of the scene. Young Antoine, who was now wearing a uniform too large for him, was caressing a lion's mane. The fierce animal simply sat still, its eyes burning with blue flames.

The lion suddenly roared with deafening strength. Antoine, unaffected by this frightening sight, knelt down to pick a sword, but the weapon was too heavy for the little boy, and its tip stayed on the floor. The animal circled around the child in a protective manner, sensing something was wrong, until a grating sound made him turn around.

On the casket, a small fox was intently scratching the wooden cover with both paws. The lion roared again, but the fox ignored the impressive animal and continued its work.

"Mamá?" Antoine said. He tried to walk closer to the body, but the lion blocked the path, showing its fangs with a threatening growl.

"Non, Antoine," Jacques whispered. The doctor walked past child and animal and went to his wife, his face now devoid of any expression. The fox jumped down, and a moment later the man hit the casket with both hands, breaking it into thousands of pieces which slowly flew apart into the room.

The dust and particles floating in the air took forever to settle, and Deiña stood in its midst, dressed in white like an angel sent from heaven. A benevolent smile lit her ashen face, and the same blue flames as those in the lion's eyes were burning inside the myriad of diamonds nested in the necklace, bracelet, and earrings which adorned her frail body. The ghost opened her mouth and whispered inaudible words, and then slowly removed one of her earrings.

The woman having the vision suddenly became self-conscious once more. She extended her arm out to grab the offering from the spirit, but as her fingers brushed against Deiña's skin, an intense, burning sensation overwhelmed her. She yelped from the sudden pain, and the vision gave way to reality. One of the thick leaves had caught on fire and the flame had burned the hand she had lifted in front of her.

Still dizzy from the smoke and the vision, the woman buried the remainder of the leaves and the coals. She then carefully stood up and found her way out of the abandoned house.

* * *

Tornado's hoofs spurned the dry, flinty ground with a regular beat, the sound of which had rocked its rider into a trance. The caballero had spent the whole night looking for the alleged bandits whom everyone was talking about at the pueblo. He had found a few clues, but nothing yet that would lead to the identities of these men, or to the location of their hideout. Morning had come, and it was time to head home after a fruitless night search. The sun was already up high and it was not the best of times for Zorro and Tornado to roam around in plain sight.

Diego yawned as he tried to ignore the thoughts that were haunting him more and more often. Since his return from Spain, he had been busy countering every one of Monastario's schemes, while keeping his identity a secret. The lies and deceptions he had to constantly make up were sometimes burdensome, straining even his most clever plans. The young man had to admit that he was glad to have had a short vacation from lying to his father for the past few days, the old man having been traveling to San Obispo with his faithful friend Bernardo for the past week.

The coming of Antoine was also a concern for his activities as Zorro. Diego had no idea yet how he would deal with the situation, especially since his best friend would be reporting to Monastario. The Comandante of Los Angeles was very close to finding undeniable proof of Zorro's identity, especially after the whole story with Don Ignacio and his father's trial. Diego hoped that Antoine would not be the last clue Monastario would obtain to build a solid and irrefutable case against his sworn enemy.

Tornado suddenly neighed and stopped galloping, his nostrils dilating nervously at something only he had detected. Diego blinked his eyes to wash away his tiredness, and wheeled his horse to look around, unsure of what the animal had smelled.

Not too far from his position, some dispersed white smoke was visible, probably coming from a hut nearby. Diego did not think the bandits to be so dumb as to make a fire that would reveal their position, but he decided to check it out anyways, trusting his mount's instinct more than his currently unfocused mind. The man gently spurred Tornado with his heels, and forward he went towards the source of the smoke.

As he approached, Diego realized it was only an abandoned adobe house. Probably some poor people had decided to take up residence in it, as the old mule and the tattered woman standing at its entrance seemed to indicate. Maybe she would know something about those bandits, it was worth asking since he was riding to her anyways.

"Señora," Zorro saluted as he stopped Tornado in front of her. The animal was still feeling nervous, and Diego could now smell the odd scent in the air. Whatever was cooking in that house sounded rather unusual, and made horses very tense.

The woman looked up to him with dreamy eyes. She distractedly brushed her hair aside, and Diego saw that the top of her hand was red and swollen as if it had been burned.

"You are... the fox?" she exclaimed, the sudden focus of her pupils betraying her sharp mind. She did not look disturbed by his peculiar attire.

"I am searching for the bandits that have lately been attacking the farms in the area. Have you seen any of them, or heard of anything that could lead me to their hiding place?"

"Yes, yes! The fox! It makes sense now," the woman chuckled, nodding her head.

Diego suddenly felt uneasy, and Tornado sensed it too. The woman could be thought of as crazy, yet there was something about her that made the caballero wary.

"Señora?"

"The men you are looking for are hiding in Devil's Canyon, if you follow Dagger Flat trail to the north you will find them in the cavern on the east side," she declared as matter-of-fact.

Diego stared at the woman in disbelief.

"They made a mess of the area," she added. "A blind idiot could have followed their tracks."

"I shall take care of them, Señora. Gracias for the information," Zorro finally said, still shocked by the uncanny precision of the facts this strange woman had just given him.

"'Til we meet again, young fox. The lion will be watching over our friend, there's nothing you can do about it," she chuckled, her eyes intently fixed on his.

Diego could not shake off a bad feeling in his guts as he gave rein to Tornado to run back home. This could possibly be an ambush set up by the bandits. What were the odds that on his way home he would randomly meet a person with such handy information?

Trap or no trap, Diego decided that he would have to check out on the bandits. After getting some sleep of course, he could sneak in their lair at night when they would be wandering about, and make an ambush of his own in the canyon.

Still, he was unable to forget the burning intensity of the woman's eyes as he rode back to his hacienda.

* * *

_Thanks for reading me again! If your eyes came this far in this story, please let me know if I am on the right track for the plot. Am I giving too much details, not enough, is it still a fun read for you? I am trying to dose the information very carefully, to keep you guessing what is going on.I find it particularly fun to do but... Is it working? What's your favorite character so far? Any feedback helps me tremendously in my writing, especially for plot setup. Thanks to all who reviewed so far! Special thanks to IcyWaters and WolfDaughter, your comments made me chuckle and orient my story, seriously ;)  
_

_Next: Diego and Antoine... finally meet face to face!_

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Antoine grunted as he covered his eyes to protect them from the light. He had rarely passed out in his life, and this one time certainly felt like the last one at his graduation from the Academia, when he had collapsed from drinking too much alcohol. The horrible, bitter taste in the mouth, the dry lips, the upset stomach, the headache... all there in a symphony of horrible feelings to make one's life most miserable. Instinctively, his hand searched for the pocket watch at his belt, but he stopped the gesture as he suddenly remembered what had happened, and where he was.

"Mateo! What the hell did you do to me!" he rasped, turning his head slightly to have a look at the rider of the carriage.

"Moi?" Mateo said, not even turning around to look.

"Being stabbed by a sword does not in any way make someone feel like they drank all the wine of California!"

Mateo erupted in laughter at his angry comment. Antoine sighed, rubbing his temple to ease the pain of the headache. He noticed Bernardo sitting at his feet, watching over him, sprawled against the backside of the carriage. His friend had the most insulting grin of all, and he winked at him.

"Oh, shush, Bernardo, if you say a word you're dead!"

His mute friend took on a hurt expression for a second, and then the grin was back on his face.

"Hey, don't blame the poor guy. I'm the one who made you sleep like a baby for two full days," Mateo declared. "You should be thankful we took care of you. Your deaf and dumb friend there is quite the nurse too. Drink some water and the headache will go away in no time."

"Quoi? You're a doctor now?" Antoine asked sarcastically.

"No, but Don Alejandro went ahead to fetch one in Los Angeles. We'll be entering the pueblo in, oh, ten, fifteen minutes?"

Mateo's words sank in, a little late.

"Two... days?" Antoine gasped.

"Sí. Trust me, you'll be thankful for it. Your wound is already healing fast, and I'm sure you won't be drowsy anymore, like you've seemingly been for the past few weeks."

Antoine dubiously looked at his perfectly bandaged shoulder, which, surprisingly enough, felt only numb. No pain. And Mateo was right, the headache was already receding.

"Ha... What kind of business were you doing again in Monterey?"

"Funny you're just asking now," the young man smiled. "My mother sent me to pick up some medicinal plants and tinctures fresh off the same ship you came on. I already traded some of those with the frailes on the way back... and been forced by the circumstances to use some of my stock already."

Right. Why had Antoine not asked Mateo before now? He must have been brooding too much to care. The soldier also realized with amazement that his sleep had been thankfully dreamless. Not one haunting thought about his father had disturbed his mind.

"Dieu du ciel... two days of sleep. I can't believe it," Antoine finally muttered as he stared at the cloudless sky, where tints of orange and yellow were hinting at the end of the day already.

Bernardo pointed at the soldier and pinched his nose, emphatically waving the air in front of him with disgust.

"Bernardo... shut up."

* * *

Imelda was looking at her reflection in the tall mirror, her hands slowly brushing the delicate embroidery of her sleeves as a servant finished tying the back of her most exquisite dress. Tonight, she was eating with Capitán Monastario, and she knew that he was attentive to such details as a woman's clothing. The proud man had been totally thrown off by their initial meeting, and the story of the curse. When the Comandante was angry, he was unable to think straight, a flaw so easy to use to her advantage... and now that Imelda had him unable to definitely size her up, he would be second-guessing her every word, trying to fathom her plan, and he would most certainly miss the point of tonight's dinner.

Imelda's eyes smiled at the idea. The dashing Monastario somehow reminded her of Jacques, though from what she knew about the Comandante, he did not possess the same intellectual refinement nor attention for precision. Still, his impatience was attractive in a way, a sure sign of the fire of youth and life burning in his heart.

The woman checked one last time her dress, hair, and make-up. She then picked from her jewelry box a small piece of paper folded in a triangular shape. The object and its powdery content were carefully hidden inside the collar of her dress. Everything was ready.

* * *

The ship Santa Luisa was about ready to depart. Monterey's dock was busy with passengers getting ready to board, making their farewells to loved ones as the captain yelled the last call. Among the people waiting in line stood a bearded man slightly taller than most, his creased face carved like a stone where no emotion had shown for the past five months. His dark brown hair was now interspersed with many white ones, which made him look so much older than before.

He obviously had no farewell to bid.

"Gaspar, it's time to go," Imelda said, turning to Jacques's faithful servant. The latter simply nodded, his eyes filling with water as he took in his arms his beloved Nina one last time.

"Keep up your end of the bargain, and nothing shall happen to her," she added, wishing this sentimental scene would end already. Nina was just a plain little girl, born weak and constantly sick. Imelda had no idea how someone could love her, as even her native tribe had rejected her when she was born.

"Adieu, witch," Gaspar whispered, his eyes throwing daggers at Imelda. She smiled at his sudden emotion, something so uncharacteristic of him. However, his attack reminded her that she too, was feeling the pain of someone's departure from California.

The old man picked the doctor's briefcase and went by his master's side in the waiting line, without so much as a look back.

"Tía, where is Papá going?"

"He's going to a faraway land, honey. You're staying with me now," Imelda distractedly answered, her eyes fixed on Jacques for any sign from him.

The man was about ready to climb, when his head suddenly tilted on the side. Imelda's heart leaped, expecting some sort of acknowledgment of her presence.

"Antoine! Viens ici, tout de suite!" he said loudly.

A few seconds later, his young son came running to him, dodging the people in the crowd, and they both boarded the Santa Luisa.

Imelda did not move until the ship disappeared at the horizon. Jacques had not even looked at her once. If he had, she would not have loved him so much.

* * *

The air was thankfully getting cooler as the sun lowered in the sky. A fresh breeze, sign that it was not quite summertime yet, was blowing over the pueblo, blessing its people with renewed energy for the end of the day. Capitán Monastario sat outside the tavern at a large wooden table, frowning as he waited for his unusual guest. Señora Escudero wanted to have dinner with him, probably to discuss her plans furthermore. She must think him a fool. How would anyone believe such an absurd story?

This curse must be a trick, it could not be anything else. However, how did the señora come into possession of the diamond earring in the first place? Was there really a treasure? Even more interesting, what was her link to Corporal Garat? How did she know about him coming to Los Angeles? And why tell the capitán of the cuartel all of this?

Questions that demanded answers, of course. All in due time.

"Comandante, what a pleasure to see you again," Señora Escudero greeted him with a nod and a charming smile.

Monastario politely stood up and kissed her hand. He noticed the delicate lace gloves she was wearing, and as his eyes glided over her whole attire, he could not help but be impressed. Here stood a proud, dignified Doña, magnificient in all aspects of her being. One was tempted to say... perfect.

"Señora, you look absolutely stunning tonight," he smiled in all honesty, despite his suspicious feelings towards her.

"Thank you, dear Comandante."

Monastario could have sworn her cheeks turned rosy at his compliment. Señora Escudero did not strike him as a woman who could blush like a young girl. Was she faking that too?

"I might say you also look dashing in your ceremonial uniform," she added as she sat down.

"I hope you do not mind having dinner outside. I thought it would be more pleasing to the eye to have a look at the beautiful sunset," the Capitán explained, trying to hide the fact that beautiful scenery and poetry were not his forte. "I ordered the best wine of the tavern and some—"

A noisy commotion interrupted their conversation. Monastario heard some screams, but he could not make up what the peónes were saying. What could possibly be happening this late during the day?

"If you would excuse me, Señora..."

Annoyed, the Comandante pulled his sword out, and jumped over the low fence to investigate the cause of the ruckus. It seemed he would not have to go very far, as it was headed straight for him.

A small group of people seemed to be cheering at something, opening the way for whoever was coming on the street. Monastario squinted his eyes to try to make out who...

"Zorro!" he exclaimed loudly, anger instantaneously overwhelming his whole being.

"Mi Capitán! How are you on this lovely night?" the masked man asked with his maddening smile. The Comandante was boiling, and refused to answer the useless question. Nothing could be 'lovely' with Zorro within his eyesight.

In one sweeping gesture, the outlaw's horse stopped galloping and veered right in front of Monastario, so that its rider could dump whatever he had been pulling throughout the pueblo. Four dirty men, hands tied in their backs, clumsily fell face flat at his feet.

"Lancers! Guards! Zorro is in town!"

"I doubt the fellows will be here in time to catch me, Comandante. I was just passing by to make a delivery. Those are the bandits who have been attacking the farms. I trust you will make some minimal effort to put them in jail, I did do all the hard work," he chuckled, visibly happy with getting another public shot at taunting the Capitán.

"Guaaards!" Monastario screamed, unable to contain his anger anymore. He wished Zorro would get off his horse and fight with him instead of having this maddening smile from up there, dropping insults on him like rotten tomatoes.

The masked rider darted a look to his left, and noticed a few blocks away the incoming soldiers running toward him, a fact which did not seem to bother him at all.

"Well, Capitán, it looks like I will have to take my leave from you and your rather charming company," Zorro said, tipping his hat to salute Señora Escudero, who was watching the scene from the terrace.

"Not so fast, Señor!" someone yelled.

Both Monastario and Zorro turned around in surprise at the commanding voice. A young bare-chested man, his right shoulder bandaged, was coming off a carriage which had just turned around the corner, pointing a sword at the outlaw. His half-nudity was almost shocking, but Monastario quickly forgot that fact when he realized this man was a soldier from looking at his dark blue pants and familiar boots. Surprisingly, his expression and body language commanded attention despite his improper, dirty look, and rather skinny frame.

An uneasy silence settled over the scene. The Comandante could not recall seeing Zorro speechless at any of his soldiers' orders. He then noticed the rather distressed look of both the rider of the carriage and its passenger... Bernardo? What could Don Diego's servant be doing there?

Monastario took a deep breath and made a mental note. This was once more one of those rather odd occurrences where Zorro would be here, but not Diego.

"Get off your horse, masked man. You are surrounded," the young soldier ordered in a loud, steady voice.

"That I am, by a cheering crowd it seems," Zorro smiled, his countenance back. The running soldiers were still a short distance away and would be there within seconds.

The young man allowed a smile to lit his face, but his eyes were not smiling.

"Sharp tongue, Señor Negruzco. Is that all you got?"

Monastario allowed himself to feel elated. This time, they had their chance to catch Zorro, thanks to this young soldier blocking his path.

"Zorro! Surrender now!" Monastario ordered.

"Capitán!" the rider implored. "You have already four bandits at your feet! Isn't that enough? Don't be so greedy!" Zorro laughed heartily.

"Don't insult the Comandante, bandido! Act like a man and fight instead of laughing from up there," the soldier said, a flare of genuine anger intensifying his aura. As he took a step toward Zorro to attack, the impressive black horse suddenly stood up on its back legs with an angry neigh, repelling the sudden threat with its menacing hooves.

"Tornado won't let me, unfortunately. He's such a pig-head sometimes," the outlaw said. "Besides, I only fight when the odds are fair, and a dozen lancers, an insulted Capitán, and a wounded soldier just doesn't strike me as 'fair' for you all," Zorro chuckled.

At the last moment, as the lancers and soldiers were taking their aim, Zorro suddenly spurred his mount and saluted the whole crowd, and he took off at an incredible speed, running boldly past the armed soldier, and disappearing in the closest alley.

Monastario was infuriated once more. Zorro had such an arrogance it was impossible to endure.

"After him, bunch of idiot slowpokes! And pick up those idiotas here!" he ordered his soldiers, kicking dust over the four tied men a his feet.

"Comandante," a voice whispered in his ear. Señora Escudero had walked up to him during the confrontation, and she squeezed his left arm. "You have to admit that one cannot be so daring and commanding without a proper background, and the quick, witty replies betray some education."

"I already have my doubts on the identity of this Zorro, Señora" Monastario grunted back.

"Zorro? But... I was referring to your new Corporal over there," she said, pointing her delicate fan at the young soldier who was being held in check by another young man and Bernardo. "Why don't we go greet him and welcome him to Los Angeles?"

Monastario could have sworn there was laughter in her perfectly pitched whisper.

* * *

_This chapter is a little shorter than the ones I have been posting so far... but this is the one I had most fun writing yet. It must be the witty retorts, I just never run out of those to write down, and the Imelda-Monastario-Antoine pov are just too fun to use.  
_

_Next: Imelda is angry, and Diego and Antoine are reunited (for real, this time!) :)_

_For those wondering about the foreign words:  
"negruzco,a" means "of black or very dark color, blackish" - "Viens ici, tout de suite" mea__ns __"__Come here, right now__" - __"tía__"__ means __"aunt__"_

* * *

_edit: Thanks Valdhery for pointing out a slight oversight I did, I corrected it ;) ... and, hm, Vald is right, what is going on with the deaf and dumb story, hm? :D  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_It is so interesting to read everyone's guesses, you all make me chuckle. Some of you are closer to the truth than others, but... I can't let you know who, now, can I? I'm impressed with some of your deductive powers!  
_

_And about Carlos Martínez... you may not remember the first season perfectly (11th episode), but he did eventually team up with Monastario when the Comandante saw his great skills with the sword at the tavern. In fact, he was hired to act as a double of Zorro, to discredit him. However, my story happens right before those events, so he obviously won't be involved directly with Monastario. We haven't heard the last of him though. :)_

* * *

The small crowd that had gathered at the appearance of Zorro was slowly dispersing, as soldiers brought the four tied bandits to the cuartel's prison. That they had been captured and would not be attacking the area anymore did not seem to make the peónes happy as much as the fact that it was Zorro who captured them and brought them to justice. Of course, it also had to be done in public, and in the most displeasing manner.

Damn Zorro and his heroics... _Again!_ thought Monastario as he sheathed his sword and clenched his teeth. And now, his new corporal had just walked in the pueblo, but he was... hurt? What on earth had he been doing with Bernardo and—

"Mother! I did not expect to find you in town tonight!" said the young man with a slight frown as he walked towards Monastario and the señora.

"Mateo, you forget your manners," Señora Escudero scolded him with a pout.

—the señora's _son_? Was this another trick of hers? The Comandante frowned, puzzled, as he looked for the mute servant, in the hope that Don Diego would show up next to him pretty soon, and confirm yet another doubtful timing between his and Zorro's appearances. His eyes found Bernardo in the back of the carriage, frantically searching into a bag for something he seemingly deemed important. He found it a few seconds later, and threw the piece of cloth at the wounded soldier, who caught the shirt with one hand and put it on in one agile gesture.

"Mother, Comandante," Mateo nodded. He looked over his shoulder at his companion to make sure he was presentable. As he opened his mouth to speak again, the corporal stepped forward and formally saluted the officer despite his wounded shoulder.

"Corporal Antoine Garat Elejalde, reporting for duty, Capitán! I take the blame for letting this Zorro get away!" he said loudly and without hesitation, while staring straight above Monastario's head. The Comandante nodded his approval at the refreshing military etiquette and attitude, something he had not seen properly done in a while.

"Corporal, considering the current situation at hand, you are not to be blamed for Zorro's escape, nor for being out of uniform," he said, raising an eyebrow at his own forgiveness. For some reason, Corporal Garat did not instantly inspire him impatience, anger, or disrespect like many of his soldiers did. His slight accent was still a curiosity though.

"How nice of you, dear Comandante," purred Señora Escudero with a smile. Monastario rolled his eyes at her comment, as she held up her hand to be presented.

"Corporal Garat, may I present Señora Imelda Escudero Galván..." he finally said.

"A pleasure, Antoine," she winked. "I believe you already met my son Mateo, whom I hope was not too much of an annoyance to you."

The young soldier did not visibly react at the use of his first name, nor at the señora's disrespectful mention of her son. He simply bowed lightly as he politely kissed her hand. Monastario realized he was not the only one annoyed at the Señora's attitude, as his eyes locked with Mateo's for a short moment of mutual understanding.

"Watch it!" Mateo blurted as he jumped forward. Corporal Garat had lost his balance and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the young man's reflexes. He caught the soldier by the shoulders and made him sit down on the ground, despite his obvious objections that everything was all right.

"Someone! We need a doctor!" Señora Escudero yelled, fanning herself vividly. Monastario would have bet her worry was just an act.

"Mother, Don Alejandro de la Vega already went ahead to get one. He should be back pretty soon," Mateo explained as he gave to the corporal some water that Bernardo had fetched from the cart.

"Don Alejandro?" wondered Monastario out loud. He was now unhappy at the involvement of the de la Vegas in this strange affair. The Comandante would definitely have to spend some time to untangle this intricate little web of relationships.

"We met him on the way back from Monterey, his servant Bernardo took care of Corporal Garat after the..." Mateo trailed off and looked down, unsure if he should continue his sentence.

"I'm all right, I'm all right, this is just a scratch, really," grunted Corporal Garat, visibly irritated by all the attention he was getting.

"I expect a full report on this incident, Corporal," ordered Monastario, more out of curiosity than genuine concern.

"Sí, Capitán!"

"Poor little thing, really. I wonder what happened. I hope this wasn't Mateo's fault," Señora Escudero said with some worry in her voice.

Corporal Garat opened his mouth to say something, but Mateo's expression just cut off his inspiration.

"Now, now, dear Comandante, I believe we still have dinner together, don't we?"

Monastario's shoulders sagged. He suddenly felt like going to bed right away without a meal, for some strange, inexplicable reason.

* * *

Zorro was eagerly running away from the pueblo, his silky black cloak billowing in his wake. The soldiers were long gone and out of sight, unable to catch Tornado and its rider, who guided his mount so deftly. The outlaw had made sure to run far enough to leave a trail in the wrong direction, before taking a path across the fields back to his lair at the hacienda.

So, Tonio, his very best friend, was in town. Diego was caught off guard when he heard him bellowing his order to surrender, but he could not stop smiling at the good memories his presence brought back. Now he could not wait to talk to him about good old times in Madrid.

Diego sighed after a moment though, the familiar guilt expressing itself with a pang in his chest. Would he be able to lie to Tonio about Zorro? His friend was also smarter than he himself thought, and the fact that he knew about the fencing competitions, the medals, and Diego's appetite for challenges would surely ruin Diego's 'inept swordsman' cover for good. Moreover, Bernardo's deaf act might also have been discovered already!

The wound on Tonio's shoulder was also worrisome. What had happened on his way to Los Angeles? Bernardo was accompanying him, they must have met along the Camino Real... but where was his father?

The caballero, anxious to find out the answers to all these questions, spurred his mount to gallop faster. To take a shortcut, he veered on a small road that led to the de la Vega's hacienda, not caring much for cover anymore as it was getting darker by the minute. Tornado was starting to sweat from exhaustion, but Diego knew the animal could handle it for a few more minutes.

The young man suddenly noticed some dust ahead. Riders were coming his way, and fast. It could not be Sergeant Garcia and his soldiers, there was no reason for them to have come so far out of town. Diego decided to take some risks, opting for speed over hiding. He kept riding straight ahead, hoping the horsemen would just run by and ignore him entirely.

A moment later, Diego easily recognized one of the figures. It was his father! The white-haired man was riding hard towards the pueblo, accompanied by Doctor Alvarado.

Zorro sighed with relief. He was able to put on his famous grin as he slowed down slightly, just in time to salute both riders who had barely enough time to recognize the outlaw passing by. He then resumed his course at maximum speed, eager to get home, and out of the black clothes and mask.

* * *

"How did it go?"

"Well... not exactly as planned."

"Obviously!" Imelda's eyes flared with anger in the dark alley, her usual control not so strong. "How the hell did he end up hurt? Was this your doing?"

"I hired this Martínez in Monterey, he's pretty good with a sword and he did do his part as instructed. I told him to trap Garat before he got to Los Angeles, and find a way to steal his things and make it look like petty robbery."

"And? Was that even too difficult to accomplish?" she asked

"Well... I didn't see the fight, but I guess he was more interested in dueling than in the money I offered. He told me Garat was able to hold him back long enough, and they got interrupted by Don Alejandro and his dumb servant. Martínez had to get away before he could search the bags. He just gave him a scratch before leaving, and the stupid promise of a rematch. I could do nothing, else I would have blown my cover. I paid him half what I promised... I didn't want to get him mad at _me_."

Imelda was silent, trying to suppress the boiling anger she felt throbbing in her veins. She wished she would not be so emotional when her plans were disturbed by events she could not foresee.

"Don't be so furious, see, I did get to search his things while he was unconscious, and got this. Just forget about Martínez. He's a useless scoundrel."

"Maybe so, but soon enough Garat will realize it's missing and that's surely going to make him wonder. That was careless of you! His possessions were to be stolen to avoid all suspicion!"

Imelda picked up the worn pocket watch, and flipped it open. It was broken, but the inscription inside the cover clearly identified the sentimental value of the object. She had expected something more useful than a useless memento.

"That's it? Nothing else?" she added. "Not even a piece of paper, or a map?"

"Nothing. Whatever clue you were hoping to find wasn't inside his bag or on him."

A long silence followed. Imelda took a deep breath.

"Fine. I have to go back to Monastario before he starts wondering why I've been gone for so long," she said, putting the watch in her small purse. "This may be tricky now that he's in the pueblo, but just stick to Garat for as many occasions as you can. Maybe he'll be searching for something soon enough. That damn Gaspar could have given him instructions verbally instead."

"Are you still mad?"

"Yes, but I think I have a way out of this without arousing Garat's suspicion. Go now, this took way too long. I'll see you at the hacienda."

"All right."

Imelda sighed, her anger fading away as she exhaled slowly. It seemed she would have to rely on her extraordinary patience a little longer.

* * *

"What do you mean, Tonio?" Diego asked, his voice thicker than usual from the large intake of wine he had had in the past hours. He found he was having a hard time talking to Tonio over the noise inside the crowded main room of La Taberna Serrano, one of Madrid's most infamous taverns, known for the bad quality of its customers. Both he and his friend could not resist going there of course.

"Well, you see," the young soldier explained with a similar tone, but louder. "The only way to deal with this arrogant b-bastard father of mine is to ignore him!"

"Cheers to that!" a neighbor yelled.

"Aye!" Diego and Tonio answered in unison, and all three men quaffed their mug's content without remorse.

"Parents can sometimes be annoying, but—"

"No excuse!" Tonio declared, hitting the sticky table a little too strongly. Diego was still fast enough to catch the wine jar before it could spill out. "See this?"

The soldier took out a letter from his uniform and stuck it in front of his friend's eyes, a little too close for him to be able to read it.

"I see it yes, it's a piece of paper," Diego said with laughter.

"Don't laugh, amigo!" the young man said, clumsily pointing at his own name written on it. "Th-This is the handwriting of Gaspar, my father's servant... helper... right arm... and homme à tout faire."

"Tonio... stop using French you're killing what's left of my brains!" complained Diego with a frown, unable to see where is friend was going with his rant. He was merely curious at the reason Tonio had never spoken about his father except tonight, and why he was so angry at him. It was obviously bad enough to get him to drink a little too much.

"The best part is..." he continued, ignoring the complaint. "He's the one writing for my father. The old man can't even make an effort to write to his own son! Now, ask the one question I know you want to ask."

Diego tried to think for a moment but his thoughts were darting here and there, the alcohol mixing them up in a constant, waving motion.

"The one question...? Ha. What... what did he write?" he finally managed to say.

"Ha! What d-did he write?!" Tonio yelled. "Let's see."

The soldier stood up in a stilted manner and opened the letter to read its content.

"'Antoine, take this. I can't keep it anymore. Jacques.'"

Diego waited a moment, expecting more, and then realized that was it.

"Those are the loving words of a father, all right," he said sarcastically.

"You b-bet!"

"What does it mean... 'take this'?"

"He sent along Mother's wedding gift. A now useless, broken pocket watch that she gave to him... He never repaired it. It stopped working not long after she p-passed away. He just knew it would make me mad, I think he likes to torture me," Tonio said with a low voice as he sat down with a dejected expression on his face. He gulped down the remainder of his wine in one motion, and then searched his pocket to emphatically pull the item out.

"Let me see," Diego asked, curious at the significance of this gift.

Tonio handed him the watch, and the caballero flipped it open to examine it. It was indeed broken. Diego tried to wind up the small knob, but he did not hear the mechanism inside.

"Don't try to repair it!" Tonio said, taking the watch away from his friend.

"Fine. Fine. By the way, your watch just told me it's time to go to bed, amigo," Diego yawned, stretching his arms to remove the numb feeling in his back. They had been sitting in the tavern for way too long.

"Lazy caballero."

"What did you call me?"

Tonio erupted in laughter. Diego laughed with him. He thought that in their current condition, they would have a hard time walking home and slipping back in their respective quarters, but at least his friend's bad mood was finally gone.

* * *

Everything was so quiet in the hacienda it was disturbing. Diego de la Vega was trying to sit still and read a book, but he could not stop thinking about Tonio, and before he knew it he found himself pacing back and forth in the living room distractedly biting his nails. When he finally heard the horses stop in front of the hacienda, he took a deep breath, quickly sat back in the chair, and tried to look as calm as possible.

"I'm fine, really, Señor de la Vega, you don't have to—"

"I insist, young boy. Besides, you should heal faster sleeping in a comfortable bed, instead of a soldier's crude quarters."

Bernardo was the first to open the door. Diego looked up to him, but could not get any information from his faithful servant before his father entered the room, followed immediately by Tonio.

Diego put down his book and stood up to greet the three men. A long, uneasy silence filled the air between them.

"You!" he finally said, pointing a finger in accusation at his friend. "How dare you!"

"I? I am right! I always am! You just never learned to add and subtract properly!" Tonio protested.

Diego saw his father and Bernardo's distressed eyes going back and forth between the two men. They obviously had no idea what was going on.

"You're the one who owes me wine, puny soldier!"

Tonio opened his mouth to retort, but he could no longer hold it and collapsed into laughter.

"Diego, you fat, indolent Californian! You are just impossible!"

As he hugged his dear friend for a long while, Diego saw his father sigh with relief. He was not used to seeing his son throw insults at visitors.

"Forgive us, Father," he chuckled. "It's just that—"

"It's all right, son," the old don patted both of them on the back, a proud smile on his face. "I am honored to host your friend from Madrid, and look forward to hearing all about your stories."

"Yes, well, before we get to that..." Diego trailed off with a mischievous, crooked smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes?" Tonio said, frowning his eyebrows with concern.

"You go take a bath! You stink so much you're insulting our hacienda!" Diego declared, shoving his friend forward. "Then, you're going to tell me how you got this—" he poked the bruise on Tonio's cheek on purpose.

"— and this," he finished, poking the wound on his shoulder.

"Ow! Stop it! The Doctor just examined it," Tonio cringed from the sharp pain inflicted by Diego's finger.

"Bernardo will show you the way and help you out."

The young caballero signaled his servant, who acquiesced the gesture and lead the way to the guest bedroom. Diego sensed Bernardo seemed to be handling the situation so far, and detected no worry in his eyes. He was eager to know what had happened, but had to play his part and be patient some more.

When both men were out of the living room, Diego turned to his father, and saw the old don was still watching him with a smile.

"Diego, you look so different when you're with Tonio," he remarked out loud. "I'm glad I finally get to meet one of your friends."

"He's a remarkable fellow, indeed," the young man nodded. He was afraid his father would start asking questions about Madrid, so he changed the subject before it became dangerous grounds for him to walk on. "I trust you had a good trip on the way to San Obispo?"

"We did, actually. Bernardo is a wonderful traveling companion, despite his handicap. The only incident, really... happened when we met... I guess I'd better let your friend tell the story. He did not say a word about it on our way back."

"Tonio is not really talkative when it comes to his personal problems, Father."

"I'll go tell the servants to prepare something for dinner," the don said with a nod.

"Yes, that'll give me the time to finish reading this chapter," Diego replied, picking up the book he had put down.

The young man heard his father sigh loudly at this comment, and he walked out of the room, making no effort to hide his annoyed expression.

Diego opened the book at a random page, but his eyes were not focused on the words written on it. Instead, he was trying very hard to find a way out of the upcoming mess he was about to face at the dining table.

* * *

_Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews!_

_edit: I did make it easier to realize the flashback is a flashback. Tks Icy for pointing it out :)_

_Next: Imelda may have met her match, and Antoine confronts... Bernardo!  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry I took a while before posting this chapter, I was caught up in moving to another place, and the whole living-in-boxes lifestyle just killed my inspiration for a while. This chapter was partly written before and after I moved, I hope its sections are not too disconnected, though this is how felt when I had to finish writing it :-) I usually write chapters in a day, that's why this one felt strange to me._

* * *

"The day is rather hot for this time of the year, is it not?"

"Oh, shush, Tomás, you're not wearing a corset! You have absolutely no reason to complain!"

The Don laughed at his wife's pout, and distractedly wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief as they kept on walking leisurely across the small pueblo's plaza. The lively energy of Imelda was always contagious, and he could not help but wonder what she found so interesting in an older man such as he. Whatever her reasons were, he could not help but thank the heavens such a beautiful woman had chosen to spend the rest of her life with him. The last two years had been a blissful, lasting moment.

"You're doing it again, Tomás!"

"Doing what?"

"You're staring at me with a dumb look, Señor," she teased with a wink.

"My deepest excuses, Señora, but your beauty enraptures me," he said, bowing to Imelda in a royal manner, as he would have at the Spanish Court.

His wife giggled, and her laughter reminded him of how their one year old son Mateo laughed. He had definitely inherited her cheerful attitude.

"My, what is going on here? Is the most influent of the Dons _bowing_ to a citizen of this pueblo?" a familiar voice said from behind.

Don Tomás turned around and instantly recognized his good friend Don Alejandro.

"Alejandro, are you and my wife into some sort of conspiracy to tease me all the time?"

"That depends, we might keep on doing it while we can. After all, you're not Alcalde yet!" he replied with a chuckle.

"I know I have your vote of confidence, Alejandro, but Jose Vanegas' tenure is not over until another year! Speaking of such things is premature and uncalled for," Tomás replied, feeling uneasy with the topic of his likely nomination as Los Angeles' next mayor. After all, this young pueblo's first alcalde was doing a good job so far, even though talks of him being replaced by Don Tomás had been circulating among the Dons for quite some time now.

"If it can make you feel better, Tomás, I invite you and your wife for some refreshing wine at the tavern," he chuckled, distractedly playing with the tip of his fine mustache.

"Don Alejandro, you are spoiling us _again_!" Imelda said with a nod, already accepting the invitation.

"I believe that would be an acceptable excuse, dear friend," Tomás acknowledged with a smile, grateful for the opportunity to get out of the afternoon's sun for a moment. "It does feel like it's getting hotter by the second out here."

"Hot? It's a rather perfect and refreshing sunny day I would say, February is always so rainy," replied Don Alejandro as they headed towards the building at the other side of the plaza.

"Do you men plan on talking politics again?" Imelda asked pitifully. "I think we should rather discuss about—"

"I... really don't feel... like..." interrupted Tomás through clenched teeth as a sudden, uncomfortable pressure grabbed the center of his chest. He tried his best not to look disturbed by the pain, knowing it would go away in a few minutes, as it had the other times before.

"Oh, Tomás, instead you and Don Alejandro can talk politics tonight, we could have dinner together! He could bring little Diego over and..." Imelda trailed off, her cheerful face now darkened with concern as she stared at him. "Tomás? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, querida," he lied with a weak smile. Her sudden concern seemed to have worried Don Alejandro as well, who grabbed him by the arm and scrutinized his eyes.

"Señora, I think we should bring your husband home," he finally declared.

"Alejandro, I feel perfectly fine, this is just a momentary... dizziness," Tomás said angrily to Alejandro, pulling away from his grasp. He found the overt worry of his wife and friend most annoying.

"Tomás, you really don't look well. Let's go home, I'll make you some herb tea," Imelda said in a distressed manner.

"Really, I'm fine, no need to—"

Suddenly, Tomás moaned and grabbed his chest, involuntarily squeezing his vest as if to rip it off. The pain was so great he could not withstand it, and he fell to his knees.

"Tomás!" Imelda screamed.

"Help, someone! We need water!" yelled Alejandro.

The old don's vision suddenly blurred and he heard a buzzing noise in his ears. Everything his wife and Alejandro said seemed to come from afar as his senses slowly shut down. He felt his arms become numb, and he could barely feel his body being lied down on the ground. All he wanted to do was to lift his hand up and stroke his wife's cheek to calm her, but even that had become the most difficult of things to accomplish.

Tomás blinked a few times to try and focus in the blinding sunlight. He realized someone else was now looking over him, palpating his neck, and now ripping open his shirt. He thought he had seen the young, bearded man before, though he could not quite figure out where or when he had met him.

"Don't move, Señor, I am Doctor Garat, I will take care of you."

"... love... you..." Tomás managed to say with a rasp, trying to keep his eyes focused on his beautiful wife.

The doctor with a strange accent seemed to pause his frantic gestures for a moment, visibly disturbed by something. The last thing Tomás saw was his wife staring at the bearded man. He could not understand why she was not looking at him. Was it... adoration he saw in her lovely eyes? He wanted her to look at him, but he could not find the strength to speak up and get her attention.

As the pain was finally starting to recede, Don Tomás Escudero Manrique let darkness overcome his vision, and sighed his last breath.

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind him, Bernardo readied himself for whatever words Antoine would feel throwing at him. However, his friend remained silent as he readied himself for a bath. Since hot water had already been prepared by the house servants, courtesy of Diego who knew his friend was in town, he went out for a moment to fetch it, hoping to come across Diego to get their stories straight before dinner. He had no such luck however, so he came back with the bucket of hot water, hoping he would be able to handle whatever would happen in the next minutes.

Though he was not looking directly at Antoine as he poured the water in the bath, Bernardo felt the weight of the soldier's gaze on his back, and he smiled to himself. He knew Antoine was too smart not to have noticed the problem with his apparent deafness. The young man was probably expecting his mute friend to offer some sign about what was going on, but he would not give him the satisfaction of an explanation before he could ask it out loud.

"Now, where was I with my guesses after I woke up from my two days of unasked for induced sleep? Ah, yes. You were yelled at so much that you became deaf," thought the soldier out loud. "No, wait, it's probably too much sand from the area that clogged your ears. Ah, you ate some strange Californian fruit that made you deaf. Or maybe you got so tired of hearing Diego's boring stories that you stopped listening to everything altogether... Oh oui, that's probably it!"

Antoine finished his deductive train of thought by clasping his friend's shoulders emphatically, while Bernardo continued preparing the bath, doing the best he could to hide the smile on his face.

"Whatever it is," he continued in a lowered tone, "I don't really understand why people think you're deaf. Don Alejandro and Mateo both believe so, and I did notice you made no effort to let them think otherwise. We pulled enough tricks together in Madrid for me to guess something is going on here..."

Antoine paused a moment, but Bernardo resisted the urge to turn around.

"I was kind enough not to question your behavior in front of them, Bernardo, but if you don't tell me something, you're in for a bath, dear friend," he finally whispered menacingly, tightening his grasp slightly.

On those words, Bernardo put the bucket down and turned around, putting on the best frightened expression he could muster up. Upon seeing his face, Antoine's curled lips became a large smile which made Bernardo laugh along.

"You sneaky little fox!" he exclaimed. "What are you and Diego up to this time?"

Bernardo's eyes widened at the choice of words from Antoine, but he decided that it was too haphazard to have been said on purpose.

To answer his friend's question, he started by building up a fictive crowd with his fingers, and imitated them chattering among themselves. He then pointed himself and started walking around these people while emphatically making the gesture of listening to them.

"Er... Bernardo? I don't know what you mean... I know you can hear people talking."

The mute man shook his head and tried to explain again. Sometimes he wished he could speak, it would makes things so much easier, and faster. After a moment of thinking, he decided to point each invisible person with his fingers, and then pointed to himself, and made the familiar gesture of shaking his head after pointing to his mouth and ears.

Then he mimicked himself walking toward Antoine to tell a secret in his ear while pointing someone out.

On this, Antoine laughed out loud and patted his friend on the shoulder again.

"Bernardo... I can't believe it! You... a spy!" he whispered with excitement. "This means Diego now collects gossip?! It makes sense though. Everyone believes you are deaf so they won't be too careful around you. But... Don Alejandro? Do you and Diego both need to lie to him?"

Bernardo shrugged and made a somewhat pitiful face, unsure of how to react to that fact. He had no explanation he could honestly offer to Antoine without revealing too much about his and Diego's big secret.

"Well, I hope you will fill me in on all the juicy details of this pueblo. I guess it is as boring as I had expected," he chuckled as he offhandedly threw his pants in Bernardo's face. "Gossip must me the only amusing thing around."

As he entered the bath, Antoine sighed with pleasure. Bernardo removed the stinky piece of clothing from his face, pulling his tongue with disgust.

"I don't have much, but I do have some clean clothes somewhere in my bag. And don't even think of burning my uniform, Bernardo. You did it once in Madrid and it's not happening ever again! I'm going to clean it up."

Bernardo smiled at the memory, remembering very well how once, unable to properly wash Antoine and Diego's clothes, he had simply thrown them in the fireplace, after the young men had dueled and ended up shoving each other into a farmer's cart full of—

"Merde! I really let that guy escape!" Antoine suddenly cursed out of the blue, making Bernardo jump. Water spilled from the bath to the floor in small waves, reminiscent of the turmoil and anger of the person sitting in it.

"That Zorro! He seems to be quite the arrogant bandit. Insulting a commanding officer, playing the hero and such, and not even getting off his horse to fight. He's even hiding behind a mask! I... Such a bad impression I must have made, I could not even slow him down. The Comandante was furious!"

The mute man knew better than to reason with his angry friend. Antoine would calm down in a matter of minutes as he usually did. In the meantime, Bernardo ignored him as he pulled out the only suit he found in the bag. While he shook and straightened its folds, his nimble fingers suddenly felt something odd in the vest.

Out of curiosity, he reached into the inside chest pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief carefully folded into an intricate square shape. The dark green cloth was so silky to the touch that its folds could not hold the shape together, and the object which had been wrapped in it fell to the ground with a metallic sound.

The coin rolled for a moment on the uneven floor, refusing to settle down. Bernardo knelt down and caught it, a puzzled look on his face. The silver was all tarnished, but the inscription was still readable: _FERDND VI D G HISPAN ET IND REX. _Bernardo flipped the coin around to read the date. 1753. This was old money indeed.

"What are you doing?" Antoine asked.

Bernardo brought the coin to his friend, who picked it up with a smile, his bad mood suddenly a thing of the past as he had predicted.

"My lucky coin!" he happily exclaimed. "Where did you find it? I thought I had lost it! Been looking for it since I left Bayonne. Wait—what's that?"

Antoine quickly snatched the handkerchief from Bernardo's hand, who shrugged and shook his head, mimicking himself picking it up from his own vest to explain where he had found it.

"Qu'est-ce que...?" he muttered to himself, examining the cloth and cursing in French under his breath. Antoine was decidedly into changing tempers tonight.

"My damn father just won't leave me alone..." he finally said. "Look at this, Bernardo."

The soldier help up the handkerchief by the corners, and did not seem to mind the water dripping on it from his wet hands. Bernardo moved closer to examine the object, and noticed at the bottom the white embroidered initials JG. As his eyes continued their scrutiny, he opened his mouth in surprise. Something had been written, or rather, bleached, around the edges. What could be mistaken for a fancy color pattern was in fact strange words which Bernardo could not understand.

"Why, oh why, was my father just not straightforward about this whole California thing? What's the big deal about this place, do you know, Bernardo?" asked the soldier in a rhetorical manner, shaking his head with a desperate sigh.

"This and the—where's my pocket watch?"

Bernardo shrugged. He had not seen any watch.

* * *

Waiting was not something Imelda was reluctant to do. The predictable outcome was inescapable, and the passing of time with Comandante Monastario was not in itself unpleasant. Rather, the unfocused, inward look that the man had been wearing for the better part of the dinner had aroused her curiosity. He would probably share his thoughts when his impatience could no longer be held in check, and would make him speak up.

In the meantime, Imelda was staring at the deep streaks of red highlighting the sky. It would soon be dark, the moment where people became more intimate, where whispers were born and died between a mouth and an ear. The lively sounds of the Californian night life were already singing, and, half inspired by the scenery, Imelda started humming a rhythmic tune she had not heard in a long time.

"Sounds like a song from the natives," Monastario commented.

Imelda turned her eyes to him, and stopped humming to smile faintly. "Really, dear Comandante, I would not have thought you so... sensitive to be able to make such a determination. What happened to the ruthless leading figure of the pueblo?"

"Oh, stop that," he simply replied.

"Hmm? You don't like this song?"

"Stop teasing me, it will not work anymore."

"All right, no more 'teasing'," Imelda answered with a wink. She was able to hide the slight surprise she felt at his rather honest request.

The Comandante, his eyes fixed on hers as if he tried to see her soul through them, sipped on his glass of wine, unaware of the substance Imelda had discreetly poured into it a little earlier. The innocent gesture brought back the faint smile to her face, but she remained silent, patiently waiting for the words that were burning his lips.

"I have been Comandante of Los Angeles for some time now, Señora. I know most, if not all, of the influent people in the pueblo and the nearby area, yet I find it most strange that I can't remember seeing the remarkable Señora Escudero ever, until very recently," said Monastario, thinking out loud. He then slowly stood up and started pacing, as if it would help making his thoughts more coherent.

Imelda kept quiet, wondering which question he would ask first.

"In fact, I took the liberty of investigating the names Escudero and Garat, and could only find scarce information in the Chuch's documents. Don Tomás Escudero Manrique, whom you married more than twenty years ago, passed away a few years later, after the birth of your only son Mateo. Doctor Jacques Garat, married to Deiña Elejalde de la Ybarra, who also passed away more than fifteen years ago. The Garat family left California not long after her death..."

Monastario paused and distractedly scratched his chin. He seemed to become more and more focused, and did not even look at Imelda anymore.

"I would hardly call this useful information," he continued. "Maybe the death of Don Tomás could explain your moving away from Los Angeles, perhaps to forget the pain of your loss, or to go back to your family. Still, a Doña such as yourself does not simply disappear from society. And you still own the family hacienda, so your ties to Los Angeles have never really been broken."

The Comandante's pace seemed to increase slightly as his deductive skills were at work. Imelda was surprised that Monastario had gone to such lengths to find information about her past.

"In fact, what I find most strange... I was wondering how you could have learned that Corporal Garat was coming over to serve in Los Angeles. No one would really have been able to know, except myself, through the Army's correspondence. I doubt you could have read it from the documents on my desk. You either have a very, very good spy, or ties back in Europe that would have given you some tips about it... or Corporal Garat wrote to you personally, though I doubt he did, as he did not seem to recognize you today.

"That cursed treasure story of yours is also intriguing. You may have stolen that earring, or it was given to you perhaps. No matter, as I believe the only important thing is that you have _not_ found this treasure, and I have a feeling only Corporal Garat may lead you to it. Still, a wealthy and smart woman such a you would not divulge this type of information openly, if she were greedy. Sharing a treasure with someone who's likely to cause more trouble than he's worth... is improbable.

"No... Greed cannot be your main motivation, Señora, though I suspect you knew it would be mine. Something else is going on."

Monastario paused again, and turned to Imelda. The candlelight reflected in his eyes, giving their blue color a new intensity she had never seen in them.

The light then flickered, and Monastario suddenly blinked at it. He grabbed the back of his chair with two strong hands. His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip.

"Señora Escudero... Why... did you involve me?"

The silence between them spoke volumes about the meaning of this one question. Imelda was speechless for a moment. She felt almost excited that the Comandante was not as impetuous with his thinking as he was with his emotions.

Keeping a neutral face, she slowly stood up and walked up close to the Comandante. She could tell he was boiling inside, but he was patiently waiting for her to answer his legitimate question.

"Enrique Sanchez Monastario, your deductive skills are rather impressive. I do admit to having another... motivation for involving you in this treasure hunt," Imelda said, playing on purpose with a curl of her hair.

"...What?" he blurted out, probably not expecting a confession. His back stiffened as he suddenly became self-conscious about their rather improper proximity.

Imelda slowly brought her hands to his chest, stroking his uniform with the tip of her fingers until she reached his neck. The Comandante surprisingly did not move away, though she could feel his uneasiness through the thick fabric, and his rapid, controlled breathing which tickled the skin of her cheeks.

As he opened his mouth to protest, Imelda sealed his lips with hers. Monastario tried to pull away, but his vain efforts were overcome by her fervent embrace and he finally gave in, returning the passionate kiss with an equal eagerness.

* * *

_Next: Diego and Antoine finally get a chance to discuss alone. And more Monastario of course. We all love him, right?_

_p.s. __That kiss was totally inspired by one of Valdhery's comments. For some reason it just fit into my plot, ahah :)_

_edit: shame! IcyWaters found another mistake that slipped by (my my you have scrutinizing eyes!) Tomás and Imelda did have 2 great years together, according to Tomás of course :) I removed the wrong words (I started writing something and then changed my sentence halfway through and never saw the wrong wording). Geez, should I ask for a beta reader now? :)_

_Just to satisfy your curiosity, the inscription on the coin is an "acronymed" text for FERDINANDUS VI DEI GRATIA HISPANIARUM ET INDIARUM REX; in English: "Ferdinand VI, by the Grace of God, King of the Spains and the Indies"_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hopefully, I did not contradict myself in this (rather long) chapter, and I got the proper wording. I feel it's now almost a contest of where Fanta3 made a mistake :) I hope you are also having fun trying to understand what is going on at this point. And... I could not resist torturing Monastario some more, hope you will enjoy it! 'cause I did (poor poor him, give him a pat when you get the chance)._

* * *

The old vine climbing on the pale wall of the hacienda was definitely not strong enough to support the weight of a full grown man as it was, but thankfully there was a very solid wooden support right behind it onto which it had grown. Diego had never really understood the need for having these plants around their house, but he had always been happy, especially as a kid, to have this easy means to get in and out of the hacienda without having to use the front door... And it was definitely more fun.

In the dark of the night, the young caballero tried to control his breath and movements to make as little noise as possible, and avoid alerting anyone. However, his focus was disturbed by the puzzled thoughts he had been juggling with since he had had dinner with his father and best friend.

Instead of being is usual cheerful self like in Madrid, Tonio had been aloof and distant, and had barely uttered a word when he had finally excused himself early and left for his room. Obviously, he was still disturbed by his father's death, but he had not mentioned anything about it to him or his father. Diego was worried Tonio was going through something difficult, and the wound he had got on his way to Los Angeles must not have helped his cause at all.

Fortunately, Diego had a chance to speak with Bernardo before retiring to his bedroom, but his friend had been cryptic about Tonio, mentioning something about a a duel, a handkerchief, and a lost pocket watch. Bernardo had also confirmed that Tonio had not been fooled by his deaf act, but he had been able to keep it a secret for now. With these facts in mind, Diego had decided to get the story straight from the source, and here he was, climbing onto the second floor balcony that was leading to the guest bedroom.

The candles were out, indicating Tonio might be sleeping already, though Diego knew that whenever his friend was deeply disturbed by something he did not have such an easy means of escape to forget about his issues.

Slowly, he tiptoed his way to the windowed door, which had been left open to let fresh air come in. Diego carefully pulled the curtains aside and walked in, but as he looked around to determine whether or not his friend was indeed sleeping, he felt a presence right next to him, one second too late. A sword was already against his throat before he could do something about it.

"My, my, what is going on in Los Angeles?" Tonio asked. "I catch you off guard, Bernardo is _spying_ for you, and you're not even walking around with something sharp. This must be Boredom Pueblo indeed!"

"Well, I've still got my wits," Diego replied calmly without moving one bit. "I may also mention that you are lucky I did not bring something sharp."

The caballero sensed his friend's eyes looking down, and the soldier finally realized with a laugh that Diego had been holding a butter knife against his stomach, reminiscent of a prank Tonio had pulled against him in Madrid. At least the funny memory cheered him up a little for now.

"I also remember it's important to socialize with the host when one is a honored guest," Diego added, trying to bring the conversation to what was bothering him.

Tonio took a deep breath, sighed, and went to sit on the bed after throwing his sword on it. He then kept silent for a long, awkward moment. Diego resisted the urge to say something and simply stood still by the door frame.

"Diego, I'm sorry about that. It's just that... I... don't want to bring you into this messy story. I haven't been able to fully figure out what is going on, and... This is driving me nuts," Tonio finally confessed in a whisper, with difficulty.

"Why don't you start by telling me what happened on your way to Los Angeles, amigo?"

"Not even related to any of my crazy problems," Tonio chuckled faintly. "You see, this guy, Martínez, was just some random idiot like the ones we used to pick on in taverns and alleys. He was just looking for a fight, and he followed me after I... well... found a way to cheat out of the duel he wanted to have. He obviously didn't like it.

"He followed me on the way to Los Angeles, and caught me off guard at Mission San Luis Obispo. Your father and Bernardo basically stumbled upon us while we were fighting... and Martínez left me a little souvenir of his. There's really not much to it, and it's definitely not one of my best stories either."

Tonio paused a moment, as if the words he had just uttered had suddenly lifted a weight off his chest. However, the relief seemed only momentary, as Diego saw his friend frown in the moonlight, which lit his concerned expression as he distractedly scratched his shoulder.

"All right, that takes care of your physical wounds I guess. What about the rest?" Diego asked in a teasing manner, hoping Tonio would open up some more about his obvious other problems.

"Bernardo was right, you are such a gossiping lady!" his friend replied in the same tone with a lopsided smile.

Diego grumbled the annoyance he always felt when being insulted by his best friend, although he was able to restrain himself from replying in the same manner to the taunt. Tonio was trying to change the subject of the conversation to avoid talking about himself.

"Tonio... Whether or not you want my help, you're getting it and that's it," Diego reprimanded dryly. "Stop fiddling around and tell me what's going on. Tell me about your father, about Martínez, whatever... but stop wallowing in your own problems just this one time!"

The caballero expected an angry retort, but Tonio did no such thing, and simply sighed with a faint smile.

"O nuit désastreuse! ô nuit effroyable, où retentit tout à coup, comme un éclat de tonnerre, cette étonnante nouvelle: Madame se meurt, Madame est morte! (1)" he finally declared solemnly.

"What... are you talking about?" said Diego, taken aback by the sudden act and the strange, foreign words he recognized as French.

"Those are the words of a famous French bishop. After my mother's death, my father became obsessed with his texts, particularly the eulogy of... Gah! Why am I telling you this! Here, have a look for yourself."

Tonio pulled something from under his pillow and handed it to Diego. It was a handkerchief, the one Bernardo had mentioned probably, though Diego could not determine in the darkness what it had to do with a French bishop or Tonio's father.

"Don't bother lighting a candle, Diego. I've been staring at it too much already."

"Why would you stare at a handkerchief? Are you all right?" Diego was seriously getting worried by his friend's strange attitude. He made absolutely no sense, and that had never happened before, even when he had been drunk in Madrid.

"Bernardo found it in my vest while I was taking my bath. It's my father's handkerchief, and he wrote, God knows how, some words along its edges, like a fancy pattern. Those are basically excerpts from that bishop's eulogy for the Duchess of Orléans. She died pretty young, and this text reminded my father of how... Mother died."

"I'm... sorry, Tonio. About your father's death and—"

"Don't be, Diego," Tonio interrupted. "We weren't on such good terms anyways. I never felt I was the son he wanted to have, he was just so distant I could never reach out to him."

"Oh, that I can somehow relate to," mumbled Diego between stiff lips, but before Tonio could wonder what he meant by that he kept on talking. "What's the big deal about... this now?"

Diego gave the handkerchief back. He was very curious about what this story meant to Tonio that it would throw him off so much.

"Ah! You forget one thing about Docteur Jacques Garat, cher ami. Everything has a meaning. If the handkerchief was put into my pocket without my knowledge, it must be for a reason. Just like the broken watch back in Madrid, you must remember that one too."

"Seriously, Tonio, this certainly doesn't look like something devious or meant to—"

"Tsk, tsk. You said you would help amigo, so I have to finish my story now." Tonio took a deep breath, his uncertainty gone now that he was talking openly about the things that were troubling his mind. Unconsciously, Diego had walked up to his friend, and he now sat on the bed next to him, listening with renewed curiosity to what the soldier was about to reveal.

"I think Gaspar, my father's lifelong servant, must have done it. He's the one who packed my things before I left for California. It would make sense, he's also the one who sent the watch to me. He must have known something about my father that he could not openly reveal, and of course my father said absolutely nothing before passing away. Besides his very odd but fervent desire for me to return to my birthplace, he mentioned absolutely nothing, nothing at all."

"What makes you feel so certain that there was something important to hide?"

"Well... three things. First, I have seemingly been followed by someone since my arrival in Monterey, which tells me I was expected. Who could have known about my coming besides Gaspar, you and the Comandante? Gaspar even warned me that someone would be waiting for me here..."

"The Capitán could have sent ahead for an escort," Diego suggested.

"Nah, soldiers would've reported to me. It just can't be. Why do this anyways? No one has soldiers to spare for escorts nowadays!"

"All right," he conceded. "Though this sounds a little far-fetched. What's the second reason?"

"I told you I had been staring at this handkerchief. I know the eulogy pretty well, but something which struck me as odd has been inserted in the text. It's a quote from Saint Francis of Assisi, and it does seem to fit the Bishop's original words for one who would not know about it, but it doesn't. It must mean something too."

"Spare me the French quotes, Tonio," Diego begged, raising his hand to stop another blurt of foreign words.

"'We reach Heaven faster by leaving from a house than from a palace.'(2) " he translated.

"That's it? It's pretty vague. Are you sure this means something? Your father could have remembered this in the wrong way, or simply misquoted."

"My father?! Never!" Tonio snapped. "The bastard had such uncanny love for details, he would never have done that kind of mistake unless it was on purpose."

"All right, all right," Diego sighed. "Why the elaborate setup on a handkerchief? Does that mean something too?"

"Of course! Writing this on paper would've made this hidden message conspicuous, but this is somewhat disguised as a pattern on a fancy piece of cloth... and the handkerchief is not something I could dismiss easily, while others would. I instantly recognized it as my father's when Bernardo held it up. I hate to admit it, but my father was very smart... and Gaspar too, for that matter."

"Tonio..." Diego said, shaking his head. He really felt like the elaborate castle made of assumptions, theories, and guesses would come down and crumble on his friend in no time.

"Before you dismiss all of this as completely ridiculous," Tonio continued, "think about this third fact. You do remember the pocket watch that my father sent to me back in Madrid? I showed you the short word Gaspar put along with it."

"The broken watch, yes. I remember, you didn't want me to touch it and you were totally mad at your father. In fact, I think it's the only time you ever spoke of him to me in all the time we've known each other. But what does it have to do with the handkerchief?" Diego frowned. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense.

"It may have nothing to do with the handkerchief, but it was stolen. I had it in Monterey and now it's gone. It must be linked somehow to all of this. I mean, someone follows me, and after I learn about this I get knocked out for two days, and first thing I know that stupid watch is gone."

"Unconscious for... two days?! Dios mío! What on earth are you talking about?"

"Mateo gave me something that made me sleep two full days, after I was wounded by Martínez. In fact, when I asked him about being followed, he got all strange and denied knowing about it. I hate to think about this, but he may be involved somehow."

"Tonio. You really are insane. You see enemies everywhere! You probably just lost your watch during the duel, or when you took off your clothes!" Diego countered, trying to reason his friend to common sense.

"I can't really accuse Mateo of anything unless I have proof," Tonio continued fervently as if Diego had said nothing. His eyes were glistening with excitement, and he grabbed the caballero's forearm. "You think you could help me on that? Sneak into his place and look for the watch."

"No!" Diego refused categorically.

"Oh, but you will, Diego de la Vega," Tonio replied, his tone full of assurance. "I know you can't resist a challenge, and besides, you said you would help me."

"I will, but not in this manner!" he declared dryly.

"What's wrong with you? Aren't friends supposed to stand up for—"

"Tonio," Diego cut in.

His friend became silent and cocked his head, sensing the urgency in Diego's voice. The moment the caballero had dreaded the most was coming up. He would have to explain, or rather, lie, to his best friend. Diego had reached the conclusion that he could not reveal his secret to Tonio, not until he could be sure about his loyalty. He had no doubt he could keep a secret, but it was simply too dangerous to reveal Zorro's identity at this point, when he had absolutely no idea about his relationship with the Comandante.

"Tonio..." Diego repeated softly. "Before we go on your wild-goose chase, you need to know something. A few things changed since I came back to California."

"Diego, what is going on? What is this gloomy look on your face?" Tonio asked, standing up abruptly with concern. The caballero looked down with a sinking feeling, unable to stare at his friend in the eyes, the familiar shame at lying to the ones he loved tightening his chest.

"Diego de la Vega... gave up the sword, amigo," he finally whispered.

* * *

Imelda had the greatest of difficulties to bring the tears up. Now that Tomás was dead, maybe there was hope. Maybe.

"I am sorry, Señora Escudero," Jacques said, unable to look into her eyes. He was busy tying the don's shirt back, and had already covered his face with a handkerchief. Don Alejandro was standing by, speechless at the sudden death of his dear friend, unaware of the subtle things that were happening right under his eyes.

"Jacques..." whispered Imelda, putting her shaky hand on the doctor's forearm. He immediately pulled away and stood up.

"I declare Don Tomás Escudero Manrique dead. He suffered from a heart attack," Jacques declared to the crowd that had formed around the odd trio. "There is nothing else I can do. Someone please call a priest to take care of the Señora."

"Doctor..." Don Alejandro murmured. Jacques eagerly walked up to him, still avoiding Imelda's eyes as if they would burn him.

"Don Alejandro de la Vega, I presume. I am sorry for the loss of your friend," he said bluntly.

"Were there any symptoms? I.. had no idea Don Tomás..." he trailed off.

"There is nothing you could have done to prevent this. No need to torture yourself. I..." Jacques stopped talking and finally threw a long, hard look at Imelda. His eyes were glaring with the anger of the devil himself. He... _knew_.

Don Alejandro walked up to Imelda and offered a hand to help her up. She picked it as she looked up to everyone surrounding her, and all the crowd could see now were the tears streaking down her reddened cheeks, as any widow would bear the burden of her sudden loss. They were just unaware that Imelda was crying for an entirely different reason.

* * *

Antoine stared at Diego in disbelief for a long time before breaking into laughter, patting his friend's shoulder to reassure himself. "Diego, for one second there, you had me totally fooled!"

"Tonio, this is not funny. Things happened when I came back, and... well... this is not Madrid. Not anymore."

The soldier could not believe what he was hearing. What was going on with his best friend, the most daring person he had ever known, the one that could never say no to a challenge and a sword fight? Antoine thought his problems were something, but the tone in Diego's voice when he said he had given up the sword was even more worrisome than his own issues.

"Father warned me that things were not going so well in Los Angeles prior to my arrival. I did not know what to expect, but on my very first day in town, I learned that our neighbor Don Ignacio Torres had been accused of treason.

"Father was very upset about the whole affair, and wanted me to get involved. What could I do to help Don Nacho? I tried to reason with the Comandante, write a letter to the Governor... I could not simply fight off every soldier in Los Angeles by myself to defend him, it would only have made things worse..." Diego trailed off for a moment, visibly ashamed of something. His eyes were decidedly averting Antoine's.

"Seriously, Diego, there must have been a good reason for the Capitán to accuse this Don Ignacio Torres of treason. A proper trial would have cleared his name if he weren't guilty."

"He was judged and declared innocent, Tonio, but... before the trial, my father called a secret meeting with the other caballeros to put together a plan to free Don Nacho's wife and daughter from the cuartel's prison. The Comandante learned of the whole affair, and caught him in the act. My father escaped, but he got shot in the process."

"Diego, I—"

"Let me finish, Tonio," Diego interrupted, lifting his hand up. "This is not something I am too proud of, but you need to know. My father was tried with Don Nacho, and their names were thankfully cleared. However... all this time... Zorro helped them, while I did absolutely nothing."

"Zorro?!" Antoine almost shouted. The mere mention of the name brought his anger back to the surface. "That outlaw with the mask and the attitude? What has _he_ got to do with your father and Don Nacho?"

"I... can't answer that, Tonio. All that I know is that he somehow saved my father's life, and I owe him that."

Diego was looking at the floor again, his shoulders sagged from some invisible weight on them. Antoine slowly sat back on the bed, unsure of what to say to his friend. He stared at the moon outside for a moment, letting the cool breeze of the night calm him down.

"I refused to pick up my sword, Tonio. I should have fought like a lion, even if it would have cost me my life! I am a coward. My father now thinks I am useless and that I won't stand up with him."

"What has this got to do with cowardice?! You can simply show him your skills and prove him wrong!" Antoine protested. He did not understand Diego's reaction at all. Why let his father believe things that were so wrong and false?

"I can't," Diego answered in a whisper. "When I finally tried to do something and warn him about not carrying out his rebellion... Father got hurt. I refuse to let this happen again. Violence is not the way to go for me, not anymore. I did not agree with my father's way though I shared his feelings... but I will not go against the Spanish Army or lead people to revolt, or even try to catch this Zorro. I will not fight against... you, Tonio."

"But—"

"There are...other ways to fight, Tonio. Father did not have the chance to learn about my skills with the sword, and I would like to keep it that way. If there is anything I would like you to do for me, it's that you respect my wish in this matter. I will handle the matter with father when I am ready to face him."

Antoine sensed Diego was pulling away from him. He had never realized that the uniform he was wearing could have done something to their friendship. What had happened to the spirited caballero with the devilish and charming smile? It felt almost as if he were hiding something else, but the soldier could not blame him for doing so. He himself had his lot of secrets in the family, and he could relate to the feeling very well. Antoine decided not to push his friend too hard, and trusted he would talk about his other concerns eventually. Maybe his presence would rekindle his friend's interest in friendly sword fights, if nothing else.

"One day or the other, Diego, your father will learn about this, trust me on this one," Antoine finally declared as he shook his head. "He won't learn it from me though, I promise. I can't say I agree with your choices, but I will respect them."

"Thanks, Tonio."

"However, you've proven that you're still able to sneak into a house without something sharp at your side. There's no way out of this one for you, lazy friend."

Diego sighed heavily. "You are just impossible, Tonio. I hate you."

"I know, amigo, I know," Antoine chuckled.

* * *

The sun was not yet showing at the horizon, but Imelda was already awake. She was lying in her bed, staring with a smile at the dashing Comandante who was still sleeping like a baby in the rapidly fading darkness. He just looked so innocent in this manner, the perpetual frown and turmoil on his face hiding for a moment behind a faint, childish smile.

"I'll head to town to check on Garat," a voice said close by. "Are you meeting with the tribe today?"

"Don't be ridiculous, he's not ready yet," Imelda chided.

"I saw you kiss him."

Imelda smiled. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"Then get out, he'll be awake soon."

After a moment, Imelda was alone again with the Comandante. She was enjoying her last few minutes of silence with him. A storm would be coming up soon.

* * *

Softness. Then pain. Whatever he tried to do, Monastario could not open his eyes without grunting and moaning. It took them a while before they could adjust to the bright sunshine of the... Was it afternoon already? Sunshine never came in through the window this early in the day.

The Comandante turned on his side and tried to lift himself on his elbow. The bed was definitely too comfortable, and his back ached from having slept on something too soft for hours. With his free hand he rubbed his eyes for a while, trying to erase the remnants of sleepiness at their corners. When he could finally focus, he found himself staring at a beautiful woman who was smiling back at him.

"I trust you had a good night, Enrique?"

"Señora Escudero! What—" Monastario gasped. "What are you doing in my bed!?"

"Your bed? You're so funny," she giggled.

Monastario was completely lost. He darted his eyes around, and realized he was not at the cuartel at all. His thoughts then brought him to last night, and the... kiss. Suddenly self-conscious, the poor man lifted the blanket for a short moment to confirm the horrible suspicion that had just crossed his mind. He put it back down with an angry gesture, his face now red hot.

"Señora! What did you do to my _pants_!" he yelled, unable to control the boiling anger and the shame he felt at not understanding what was going on.

"Pshh.. They're right where you left them, on the floor."

What? He could not possibly have slept with this woman who was older than him... She was driving him nuts on purpose, he just knew it. She was beautiful, it was undeniable, but it annoyed him so much that he could simply not remember anything at all beyond their kiss. Nothing.

Monastario quickly jumped out of the bed, dragging one of the blankets and draping himself into it in a prude manner. As he reached down to grab his uniform, which had been randomly thrown all over the floor, the door suddenly opened without a noise.

"Señora, Señor," a young woman greeted them with a nod. She was carrying a tray with drinks and fruit on them.

He would not have thought it possible, but the presence of the Señorita, while he was strolling around the bedroom and picking up his clothes, made him blush and become even redder than he already was. Monastario felt the uncomfortable heat irradiating from his skin like the sun itself.

"Oh, don't be shy around Nina, Enrique. She just brought us some refreshments, as I requested," Imelda chirped from the bed.

"Don't... call... me... Enrique!" he yelled, biting out each word as they were pronounced.

Nina stared at him with a blank look. "Do you wish anything else, Señor Enrique?" she asked.

The Comandante growled back at her like an animal. The girl calmly left shortly after, thankfully interpreting this as a no.

How did he get into this mess? Monastario knew that Imelda... the Señora was playing with him. He had to get rid of her. He could not stand being teased in this fashion. Treasure or no treasure, he had to get out of her spiderweb.

"Shall we go out for breakfast, Enrique? This is such a beautiful day! We could set up the table outside," she suggested with a purr.

Monastario, who had finished picking up his uniform, turned his back to her, still holding on to the blanket for dear life.

"Duty calls. I need to be at the cuartel," he simply replied.

* * *

_Next: Antoine gets more and more suspicious... and I will try not to torture Monastario anymore! It'll be difficult though :)_

_Also, I knew everyone was looking forward to the long-awaited discussion between Diego and Antoine. I think Diego got through not too badly with his half-lies, what do you think?_

_ps. Hi O'mally! Tks for reading!_

* * *

_(1) O disastrous night! O appalling night, where resounds suddenly, like the roar of thunder, this astonishing news: Madam dies! Madam died! - from "Oraison funèbre d'Henriette-Anne d'Angleterre" by Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet, 1670. I haven't been able to find an official English translation so I had to translate it myself :)_

_(2) "On atteint plus vite le ciel en partant d'une chaumière que d'un palais." by Saint Francis of Assisi, founder of the Franciscan order (you know? All those missions along Camino Real...) – if anyone finds the actual wording in English let me know, I had to translate that one too, and frankly it doesn't sound really as poetic as the French one. :) I'm also open to suggestions if you find better wording.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

"El costillar es mío, me lo quieren quitar. Si tú no me lo quitas, quién me lo va a quitar," Sergeant Garcia's powerful baritone voice resounded in the tavern, accompanied by Tonio's contagious laughter. Together, they formed an odd pair, but they were having so much fun other customers were laughing and singing along with them.

As he watched his friends, Diego tried to smile, but he had a difficult time keeping it up. There was this omnipresent dull pain that was pounding in his head, and rubbing his temples seemed to have no effect against the headache. A strong coffee was pretty much his last resort, but he felt a dose of peace and quiet would have done much better to help his cause.

He had Tonio to blame for it. The soldier had got him out of bed barely before sunrise, and dragged him along in town for breakfast. Diego was certainly not used to waking up so early in the morning, as this was usually the time Zorro would slip into bed. The caballero had barely slept, his thoughts haunted by last night's conversation with his best friend. He found it strange that after such a tense moment between them, Tonio seemed to act as if nothing had happened, and it was just like old times in Madrid... except this was totally the wrong time of the day for it.

"Come on, Diego, you have to cheer up a little! What's this frown in your face right now? You should be celebrating my arrival!" Tonio said loudly.

"You friend is right, Don Diego," Sergeant Garcia cheerfully added. "I look forward to hearing all your good stories from Madrid!"

"Oh, you'll like this one, Sergeant," Tonio patted the officer's large shoulder, winking at Diego at the same time. "There was this one time when Diego wanted to invite the beautiful Señorita María Luisa to..."

Diego rolled his eyes in despair. He knew it was useless to stop Tonio from telling this one story. He grunted and tried to forget about his pain, and also the shame he would soon feel at having this event retold once more to the general public. He could always count on Tonio to make him feel horrible at one point or another.

With a sigh, Diego laid back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head, and directed his gaze outside through the window. The town looked so different this early in the morning than what he was used to. The peónes were so active, and hurried about before the air became too uncomfortable and hot.

Among the lively crowd, something suddenly caught the young man's attention. The dashing blue uniform of the Comandante stood out among the dull colors of the crowd, accompanied by the bright yellow of Señora Escudero's dress. The Capitán looked utterly annoyed and was obviously trying to walk away from the woman who seemed to have made it a mission to make his life... interesting. Diego suppressed a chuckle and kicked his friend under the table, trying to get his attention on what was happening outside.

"What?" Tonio said, annoyed at being interrupted in his story.

"Oh, the Capitán is back!" Sergeant Garcia exclaimed. "I was wondering where he had gone. He had ordered me to report first thing in the morning, about Zorro and those scoundrels, but I couldn't find him. I thought that was odd."

So, Monastario had spent the night with the Señora? Diego thought with a smile. This would certainly turn out to be the gossip of the week, and would explain the Comandante's agitation about being seen with her.

"And look who's there," Tonio whispered, pointing at Mateo who was tying the cart's reins close by. On his face, there was also the same, though milder, annoyance that could be detected on Monastario's.

It looked like the Comandante was finally successful in getting rid of the Señora, taking his leave with a half-heart salute. As Mateo and his mother entered the tavern, Diego and Tonio went back to looking busy as if they had not been watching their arrival.

"Diego! Antoine!" the Señora happily waved at them.

"Señora Escudero, what a pleasure," the caballero greeted her with a smile. "My father sends his regards."

"Oh, how nice of him!" she giggled, sitting down at the table with the three men.

"The Sergeant and I were about to leave, unfortunately," declared Tonio, standing up and dragging Sergeant Garcia with him. "We need to report to the Capitán."

"But—" the Sergeant protested.

"Have a great day, Señora," Tonio cut him, while smiling at her. "Mateo, can I talk to you for a second on our way out?"

As his friends walked out of the building, Diego suddenly realized with a sinking feeling he was now alone with the bubbly Señora Escudero. His headache would certainly not go away anytime soon. With the smile still stuck on his face, Diego nodded and sipped on his coffee, thanking his best friend for the missed opportunity to spend the morning comfortably sleeping in a bed, and the leftover bill for his breakfast.

* * *

Imelda was sitting on a large rock, silently staring at the horizon. She let the strong wind play with her black hair and caress her skin, her mind empty of any thought. She stayed still for a very long time, observing the seemingly bare land of California extending all around her, noting every detail of it. She knew this land would soon be busy with human life, and shrink slowly as the years will go by. Every week new colonists were coming in and taking ownership of parcels of this country, transforming it into something different with their crops and cattle.

As if to confirm her predictions, a tiny figure was suddenly visible far ahead. Imelda squinted her eyes, trying to figure out who could be walking alone so far from the pueblo. A lost colonist perhaps? She decided to stay still, maybe the man would not notice her presence if she did nothing to make it known she was there.

The tall man took his time, walking slowly in a random pattern while pulling his mule along. It seemed he was looking for something on the ground, and Imelda found it amusing that he was so intent in his search he still had not noticed her presence, even when he finally was walking only a short distance from her.

When his eyes finally saw her feet, he slowly looked up, but did not appear surprised. Instead, he smiled.

"Hola," he greeted.

Imelda stared back at him with a faint smile. The bearded man cleared his throat, shifting his weight slightly. Imelda sensed he had been made uncomfortable by her silence.

"My names is Jacques Garat. I just came to Los Angeles a few months ago."

Imelda kept smiling at him, amused by the situation.

Unsure of what to do, the man threw a puzzled look at the strange woman in front of him, and then resumed his search, deciding not to waste any more time on the one-sided conversation. After a few minutes of looking around, he came back to her with decided steps.

"Look, I don't know if you understand Spanish or not, but maybe you could help me. I am looking for _datura metaloides_... er, well, a white flower, looks like a trumpet, maybe this big, with heart-shaped leaves. Have you seen any in the area?"

A... botanist? Surprising, and very intriguing. Why would a newly arrived colonist look for this dangerous plant?

Curiosity took over, and Imelda slid down the rock, taking the man's large hand into hers and pulling him towards a rocky mount half a mile ahead. As they slowly made their way on the sandy ground, Imelda did not understand why, but she felt some sort of connection with Jacques. She found it amusing that he was trying to have a conversation with her even though she had said nothing so far.

"I am trying to replenish my stock of medicine," Jacques explained.

So, he was a Healer? Imelda was surprised, and her reaction made her squeeze his hand slightly, though he was polite enough not to notice it.

"This plant is a very powerful hallucinogen, but if one inhales the smoke it produces in very small doses it makes for a great anesthetic for the throat and lungs. I heard this plant was quite common in California, yet I have been unlucky in my search so far," he said excitedly. He definitely looked passionate about his interest and did not mind sharing his knowledge around.

As they came closer to the mount, Imelda pulled Jacques around, and headed towards the small ditch she knew was right next to it.

"Yes! Finally!" he exclaimed, dropping her hand to run towards the patch of flowers hidden by the rocks. The man bent down on his knees, and carefully took out a small knife and cut with precision one of the seed pods that had dried out. Imelda was surprised at this attention, she knew most of the newcomers in the area had little if no care for the original life on the land when they came to settle.

"This should be enough for a while, and I should be able to grow some at home. Gracias," he nodded to her, putting the seeds away in one of his leather bags.

"Toloache," replied Imelda with a smile.

"Pardon me?"

"This is Queen Toloache. Be careful, she does not let trespassers enter her realm easily."

Jacques stared at her, puzzled. "Hm... thanks for the warning," he replied with hesitation.

"Come," Imelda said, a sudden spark lighting her eyes.

"Wait, I don't—"

The woman grabbed his arm, and Jacques had to follow reluctantly, his mule clumsily turning around as he pulled on its tether. After a few minutes, Imelda stopped on a spot that seemingly had nothing special to it. She knelt slowly, and pulled on Jacques's sleeve to bring him down with her.

"Here," she pointed at a small hole.

Jacques looked at it with curiosity, unsure of what to expect. When he saw the tiny, delicate red flower, his eyes widened with excitement.

"This is incredible! I have never seen this rare species before! How did you...?"

Imelda shook her head with a smile and plucked the flower between her small fingers. "It will be here again, you can remember this place like I do," she said, giving it to Jacques.

"I'm afraid this 'place' looks like everything else around here," he smiled, accepting the flower. His eyes were shining. "Why did you give this to me?"

"A gift. From Healer to Healer," she answered with a soft voice.

* * *

Corporal Antoine was pacing in the cuartel's court, flipping his silver coin in the air while waiting for the Comandante to call him in his office. He was annoyed and angry, because either someone was lying to him, or he had really lost his pocket watch. When he had asked Mateo about it, mostly to determine if he was trying to hide something, the young man had merely frowned at him. "I don't understand. I vaguely remember seeing you playing with something at the tavern in Monterey. Is that the thing you are looking for?" he had said, in all honesty. Antoine could not see anything in the young man's face that would hint at Mateo lying to him about it. So, if Mateo knew nothing about the watch, then Antoine must have truly lost it during the duel with Martínez. However, he could not shake off the feeling that somehow, this is not really what had happened to it. He wished he could just let it go.

"Corporal, the Capitán is ready to see you," Sergeant Garcia called from the door as he walked out of the office.

Antoine distractedly nodded at his superior officer and walked inside.

"Corporal Garat," Monastario greeted without lifting his eyes from the paperwork sitting on his desk.

"Capitán."

"What is your relationship with the Escudero family?" he asked bluntly.

Antoine was taken by surprise. He had not expected this kind of question from the Comandante. Why on earth was he interested by... unless this was related to this morning's... The young man smiled inwardly , being smart enough to not let anything show on the outside.

"None, Capitán. I met Mateo Escudero for the first time in Monterey and he offered the ride back to Los Angeles. He was over there for business, he picked up medicinal plants from La Princesa. As to Señora Escudero, you presented her to me, Sir."

The Comandante finally looked at the soldier with a neutral face. Antoine was unable to read on his features what was going on.

"This is interesting. Are you sure you have never met someone from their family before?" he asked, softly tapping his chin with his quill pen in a pensive manner.

"I am pretty sure, Capitán." Antoine replied, avoiding to ask the obvious question that was burning his lips. He had absolutely no idea why Monastario was doubting his word.

"Hm. Señor Escudero was not expecting you in Monterey then?" he insisted.

"No, Capitán. We met at the tavern near the dock, by pure chance. We got involved in a... brawl, Sir."

"A brawl? Why would you hang out in places like that, Corporal? And what was Señor Escudero doing over there?"

Antoine was getting unnerved by the Comandante's insistence. He had no idea why he was being interrogated in this fashion. "There were no rooms available for the night. I decided to spend the night at the tavern. A man named Carlos Martínez was just looking for trouble, and he picked on Señor Escudero and myself. He's the one who ambushed me out of town and left me this little souvenir, Sir," Antoine explained, pointing to his shoulder.

"All right," Monastario said pensively after after a moment. He then stood up and circled his desk, stopping within a hair's breadth from Antoine. "Now, what would a young man like you be doing here? Explain yourself."

"I...do not understand your question, Capitán," Antoine replied, confused.

"Your curriculum is quite impressive, and there are infinite opportunities for your career in Europe, yet you end up on the new continent in a city barely put on the map. I am the one who does not understand, Corporal," Monastario smiled calmly. "There must be something interesting here, am I right?"

"If I may, Capitán?" Antoine requested boldly, feeling hot anger flush his cheeks.

The Comandante's smile disappeared at the soldier's reaction, and he nodded his consent after a short, awkward silence.

"I have absolutely no reason to be here, Capitán. If it had been up to me, I would never have come to Los Angeles in a lifetime. Except that my father requested me to, on his deathbed. We were not on particularly good terms, and I had not spoken to him in five years, but I followed his orders. Family duty. I have no idea what he had in mind, but I would like to put this story behind me and not discuss it further... Capitán. Will that be all?"

"Yes," the Comandante finally said. "Welcome to the cuartel of Los Angeles, Corporal Garat. I look forward to seeing you in action."

Monastario extended his hand and smiled warmly, the cold attitude gone in a blink.

"Capitán?" Antoine said, clumsily shaking the hand in return. He had expected his commanding officer to be angry after his somewhat brash outburst. Was this simply some sort of test he had subjected him to?

"I am sorry for the blunt interrogation, Corporal. Security reasons. I am investigating another trivial issue involving the Escuderos," Monastario explained. "Forgive my perseverance on your case."

"Sí, Capitán." Antoine hesitated a moment, and then took a deep breath. "I would like to know what are my orders, Sir. You must have soldiers assigned to catch Zorro, and... I would like to join them, Capitán!"

"Zorro!" the Comandante almost yelled, the flare of anger making Antoine jump. It took Monastario a few deep breaths to get his countenance back, but when he did, he smiled broadly. "Corporal, you have carte blanche in this matter! If you do catch this outlaw, I will make sure you get a promotion!" he finished, heavily patting Antoine on the back.

"Gracias, Capitán. You will not be disappointed!" the young man smiled back.

Now, here was something interesting to set his mind to, and forget all about the horrible few months he had just gone through. There was a fox to catch! And what better way to catch a fox than set a trap.

* * *

"I am afraid I will have to take my leave of you, Señora," said Diego, trying to stifle a yawn for the hundredth time as he stood up. "I was not really supposed to be in town this morning, I have some duties to attend to back at the hacienda."

Señora Escudero was such a strange woman. She was so talkative it was almost impossible to put a word in the conversation, and while she always seemed to speak of trivial matters that would bore anyone to death, there was something in her eyes that spoke of a greater intelligence and an entirely different personality. However, Diego had no energy to spend on understanding the mystery behind the Señora, and there was something else on his mind that was bothering him. He had to sneak into a house, for god knew what reason, and he has better get rid of that 'duty' to his friend while the Señora and her son were in town.

"Diego, you make me sad. You should not displease ladies like this. This is bad for your reputation! That would explain why you are still single as of this day," she teased the caballero.

"Señora! I—Not you as well, please!" Diego begged in a blush. "I have my father bugging me about my marital status since the day I came back from Madrid"

"Now, if I weren't so fond of Enrique," she continued, duly ignoring his plea, "I would totally be on your case, young caballero."

Diego's eyes widened in fear, and he felt a sudden compassion for the Comandante. Before the Señora could continue on this topic, Diego hurriedly picked her hand up to kiss it.

"Ow, Diego, you are a spirited young man!" she said, reflexively pulling it away. With a pout, she slowly removed her laced glove and massaged her hand.

"I am sorry, Señora Escudero," Diego mumbled pitifully, noting how red and slightly swollen the top of her hand was. Had he been that careless?

"Don't be, dear Diego. I am playing with you. My clumsy servant spilled boiling water on my hand, nothing to worry about," she chuckled.

"Well, I... have to go. Hasta luego, Señora!" Diego left in a hurry. Why did everyone have to make him feel uncomfortable today?

* * *

In Monastario's heart, there was hope. Hope that Corporal Garat stood a chance at catching the elusive Zorro! He was a skillful young man, and he had the spirit for the task in front of him. The officer would probably never admit it out loud, but he was already fond of the young lad. His straightforward, impetuous attitude reminded Monastario of himself, and he was not afraid to speak his mind, while still keeping himself in check in front of his superior. He could be a good example for the rest of his troops, who could definitely use a good kick in the butt.

And if Garat took care of Zorro for the time being, the Comandante could focus on trying to figure out what had happened to him last night, and what Señora Escudero really wanted from him. What had possessed him to embrace this woman? Why could he not remember anything at all, except the kiss? How did he end up at her hacienda... and in her bed? How ashamed he felt, losing control of himself in this fashion. It was also strange that Garat had no idea who she was, and he seemed pretty honest about it. He really had no idea what was going on, or he was very, very good at hiding his cards. Monastario was still stuck in the same position. The Corporal had offered no clue at all.

The Capitán distractedly fumbled in his pockets as he tried to make sense of these strange events. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he felt something odd on his right side. He slowly pulled the object out and stared at it.

He didn't own a watch, he pondered.

With a shrug, he opened one of his drawers and threw the worn object in, not giving it a second thought.

"Let's finish dealing with those bandits now," he spoke to himself, walking out of his office with decided steps toward the cuartel's prison.

* * *

_Next: hmm, I dunno. What do you want to see next? So many things to untangle. Pick something, ahah. :)_

_Note: I don't know where the song Sergeant Garcia is singing comes from, but it's just a cute, traditional song I happened to know, named "El Costillar". You can easily find some videos of people playing it on guitar, or dancing on it._


	10. Chapter 10

Antoine sat on the small bunk bed, the reports he had been reading for the past hour lying all around him in a disorderly fashion. It had not been two months since Zorro's first appearance in the pueblo, yet he had managed to stir the populace in a very strange manner. As his friend Diego told him last night, he helped the alleged traitor Don Ignacio Torres escape, rescued the de la Vega's vaquero Benito Avila from being hanged, warned the rebels of the trap the Comandante had set up for them, and helped Don Alejandro escape. After all of this, he even found the guts to put up a flag on the cuartel's pole, a flag bearing his symbol of a "Z".

Even though in another time and place, Antoine might have found this amusing in a way, he was now a soldier serving His Majesty the King of Spain, and the duty that came with the uniform was not to be taken lightly. The young man understood how important the role of the army was, especially on such a distant continent, so far from the capital city. Order was key to being efficient, and having the citizens know and respect that was a must if they were to protect the population from other threats such as those recent bandit attacks. The army could not afford playing on two fronts, dealing with outside problems and inner rebellion at the same time.

Zorro had so far disturbed this order on more than one occasion, and people seemed to cheer him up for it, as he had seen with his own eyes yesterday, when the masked man had brought in the bandits. He may have been right to do so, but the arrogant, defiant manner in which he had done it was unacceptable. Antoine felt it was such a waste for one to be so skillful, and yet an outlaw. He had no idea why one would choose such a path. What a formidable officer he could have made instead!

With a deep sighing breath, Antoine lied down on his back, wondering how he could catch the fox. He obviously had great sources of information, or an amazing intuition, as he seemed to know of every scheme to capture him before they were carried through. Kicking Sergeant Garcia out of the army to befriend Zorro was a great idea, but even that the outlaw seemed to have known about. Could he have infiltrated the army in a way? Was there a traitor among the soldiers?

The only way to find out if Zorro was as smart as he looked was to outsmart him of course. Then, to remove the possibility of him learning of a trap, Antoine had no choice but to keep it a secret, even from his commanding officers. He did not suspect Sergeant Garcia or the Capitán to be traitors, but they may be under closer scrutiny than others, if indeed there was a traitor in their ranks. Only one problem remained: how could Antoine catch this fox?

With a flick of the wrist, Antoine flipped his coin in the air, and caught it with his left hand as he stood up from the bed.

_We reach Heaven faster by leaving from a house than from a palace._

Why could Antoine not stop thinking about this one line? His father had ordered him back to California without giving him a reason. It was odd that the Capitán was interested about the young soldier's motives for coming over, though he could not blame him for it. Was there something the Comandante was aware of, that he himself didn't know? Did it involve the Escudero? Too many questions to answer... and there were definitely no palace or castle in Los Angeles. Though one very specific house could still be around: his parents'. It was far fetched, but maybe something had been left over there. Antoine would have to look it out, in due time.

Now there were bandits to question. Maybe they could give him a clue or two about this Zorro.

* * *

It seemed the inn would never run out of noisy customers. Don Diego had left about an hour ago, and Imelda had sat alone at her table, lost in her thoughts, interrupted only now and then when some caballero or courageous man got the nerves to walk up to her and politely ask to sit down at her table. She had dismissed the poor souls with a distracted gesture of her hand, wishing to remain undisturbed. While in town, playing her character always required the utmost focus, else somebody might suspect something odd about her. People were so easy to dismiss her giggling and talkative self, but now she was thankful for the momentary break, and the half-anonymity the bustling crowd offered.

It surprised her that her thoughts again drifted towards past memories. Unconsciously, she was caressing the small, red flower pinned at the neck of her dress. The flower that would not even blossom every year, the one that reminded her so much of the first day she met Jacques.

"I've got what you needed, Mother," a soft voice suddenly said from behind.

As usual, Mateo was discreet as ever. Her son was such a subdued version of his father, though from time to time she recognized the familiar glare in his eyes and the clenching of his jaw when he was angry at something.

"What did the Corporal have to ask you when he left?" she asked, not even turning toward him.

"About something he lost," Mateo shrugged.

So, Antoine had already noticed the disappearance of his token watch. Imelda wondered if he would ever find out where it had ended up, thanks to her. The woman smiled inwardly, and finally stood up and took her son's arm.

"Let's go home, dear."

* * *

The bearded man looked up at Nuestra Señora Reina de los Angeles Asistencia, the brand new building established by the frailes from Mission San Gabriel. It was decorated with so many flowers it made it look like some painted fireworks standing still in time. Everybody close by was wearing their best clothes and their largest smiles, bearing gifts and getting ready for the festivities that were about to begin. An almost tangible effervescence could be felt over the sound of guitars being tuned.

Jacques was walking with ease among the small crowd, though he could feel Deiña tensing up. Her pregnancy had made her sensitive to people, and she had chosen to spend most of her time in seclusion at their small house built far from the town center, preferring to send Gaspar out for anything she needed. Jacques had finally been able to convince her to at least spend a short time with the community for this one occasion, if they ever wanted to be part of it. They had missed the wedding ceremony but at least they could give their best wishes to the new couple.

At first, the doctor had been surprised when he received a formal invitation from Don Tomás Escudero Manrique, and his soon-to-be wife Imelda. He knew the Don was one of the most influent people of this young pueblo, along with its leader Comisionado Vicente Feliz, but it surprised him greatly that the man had made the effort to invite him and his wife to his wedding, since they did not know each other at all.

"Buenas dias, Señor, Señora."

Jacques and Deiña turned around, to see a woman calling out to them. She was carrying a young child in her arms.

"You must be Doctor Garat," she said while putting down the young boy. "I am Chiquita de la Cruz, this is my little boy Diego," she added with a warm smile.

"Nice meeting you," the tall man replied. "Here is my wife Deiña."

"Buenas dias," she nodded, smiling fondly at both of them.

"You ought to feel lost among all these strangers. If you would like I could present you to my husband Alejandro de la Vega, and to the community. I can assure you, everyone is so glad to have a doctor among us, your skills will come in handy for sure!"

"We appreciate your kindness, Señora, but I am afraid we won't be around for long. Deiña is a little... tired and—"

"Mamá! Look at her belly! It's huge!" Diego said, pointing a finger at Jacques's wife.

"Diego!" Chiquita scolded her son with a gentle slap, while Deiña and Jacques tried to suppress their laughter at her embarrassment and the little boy's childish pout.

"Please forgive my son, he can be very energetic and inquisitive at times," she said.

"It's all right," Deiña waved her worries off. "I will eventually have to go through that as well." She smiled, rubbing her stomach emphatically as all pregnant women seemed to do.

"I hope it will also happen to me in due time," another voice added with a chuckle.

"Doña Escudero!"Chiquita beamed at the newcomer. "May I present to you Doctor Jacques Garat and his wife Deiña."

Jacques looked at the newly wed woman. She was radiant in her opulent wedding dress, and there was something about her that spoke of a certain dignity, though he could not figure out exactly what made him feel odd about it.

"Enhorabuena!" Deiña bowed slightly.

"Congratulations, Señora," Jacques added with a curt nod.

"Gracias, to you both," she nodded with a smile. "Doctor... I can't help but notice this beautiful, delicate adornment on your vest."

Jacques looked at Señora Escudero and frowned, instinctively reaching to his lapel to brush with the tip of his fingers the dry, red flower he had pinned there.

"It seemed like the occasion to wear it, Señora," he answered hesitantly, the frown still creasing his forehead.

"It must mean something special, for you to have conserved it so well."

There was a moment of awkward silence, where Jacques stared into the eyes of the woman in front of him, not understanding this strange, uneasy feeling in his gut. He could not figure out why the Señora seemed vaguely familiar, yet he had never met her.

Something in her eyes flickered, and he sensed his wife's hand tightening on his.

"Señora!" Chiquita jumped forward, catching Deiña by the shoulders before she could fall. Jacques panicked, feeling guilty for having brought his pregnant wife to the wedding festivities. There were too many people around, and she had trouble being in a crowd.

"I'm... all right," she whispered to her husband, reassuring him with a weak smile.

"We're going home, Deiña. Señoras, please forgive us," Jacques said firmly without taking his eyes off his beloved.

They slowly walked back to their cart, Jacques clutching his wife's shoulders in a protective manner. He bit his slower lip in anger, unable to forgive himself for being so selfish about their social status. He silently promised he would not make that mistake again.

* * *

The day was getting hotter by the minute as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was especially hot inside the cuartel, its court offering little shade, the wooden fence too high to allow wind to blow through except for a weakened, warm breeze which brought some strange odors from the pueblo.

Monastario was feeling the sweat trickling down his back, and he distractedly pulled at his collar to offer temporary relief to his dry throat. The interrogation of the four bandits had given him nothing so far, except the sour feeling that they had been playing with him for the last few hours. No threat could bring the faintest amount of fear in their eyes, and they simply sneered at every one of his questions.

Though they had been separated from each other into distinct, adjacent cells, the prisoners had been very consistent in their behavior and reactions, and Monastario was at the end of his patience with them. He wanted to know what had been these four men's motivations, who was their leader, and how they had been captured by Zorro. The Comandante could not shake off the uneasiness he felt at their overly confident behavior, as if he were the one having a gun pointed against his head. There must be something going on, and he had to find out what.

"Capitán," Corporal Garat came to him, saluting with a brisk gesture. The young soldier waited patiently in silence, shifting his weight slightly to stand at attention.

Monastario barely glanced at him, and simply grunted in anger. He was looking at Sergeant Garcia's incompetency at imposing order and respect from Rafael, the prisoner he was interrogating, and for one rare occasion the Comandante felt some sort of kinship with his clumsy officer.

"Sergeant, Corporal," he suddenly ordered, pointing a finger in a beckoning gesture to both of them.

"Hey, guys, it seems they finally got tired of asking dumb questions over and over," the one named Manolo sneered, disrespectfully pointing his thumb at Monastario through the metal bars. The comment elicited derision from his three friends.

"You think he's going to let us go?" Hernán snickered, putting his hands together in a mocking prayer. "Vinicio, pray with me, will you?"

"Ah! I forgot how to—"

"Silence!" Corporal Garat barked. The Comandante and the Sergeant both jumped at his unexpected, violent reaction. The tone in the young man's voice left no room for mockery and taunts, and though the smug, offensive smirks were still showing on the bandit's faces, they at least remained silent, scowling at the soldier who had interrupted their fun.

After a short, awkward moment, Monastario headed out with a brisk pace to his office, both men following him, and finally slumped into his leather chair with a heavy sigh, a sudden tiredness overwhelming him for a short moment. He then pull on his uniform and straightened his back, annoyed at having let his men see this momentary weakness from him.

"We are obviously going nowhere with these four bandits," he declared. "They did not admit to any of their crimes, yet they did not refute any of our arguments. Their arrogance is frustrating, it's almost as if they were... stalling, waiting for something to happen. "

"You think so, Capitán?" Sergeant Garcia shrugged. "I would've thought Zorro—"

"Zorro has nothing to do with this!" Monastario cut him, the tingling, burning anger at hearing the name of the outlaw reddening his cheeks slightly.

"You thought Zorro would've caught all of them, right?" Garat finished his sentence with a frown.

"Well... yes. He is... Zorro," Garcia shrugged.

Though it was annoying, Sergeant Garcia had a point. Would Zorro not have been so thorough, and left one or more of those bandits roaming free? Why had he, and everyone around him, assumed the fox to have dealt completely with this issue? Monastario made a mental note not to _count_ on Zorro for anything, ever... except to be an annoyance, of course.

"Suggestions?"

"We could bring in the people who got attacked, maybe one of them would recognize these men," Garcia offered.

"They have already told us they saw nothing. Those men attacked at night, wearing a scarf across their faces," Garat explained. "Their relentless persecution of the neighborhood was done in a silent, coordinated manner. It's like the four men we have behind bars are totally different people than the bandits described in our reports."

"We don't even know exactly how many of them there were," Monastario added, the hopeful yet disturbing thought that Zorro may have made a mistake creeping into the back of his mind.

"I suggest we keep patrolling at night, Capitán. We can double the guard in case someone attempts to free these men. The soldiers could watch them closely, maybe they will tire and reveal something."

"All right," Monastario stood up. "Sergeant, Corporal, assemble two groups, you are on duty tonight. Try and understand where the bandits could attack next, you will patrol those areas, in case our... _friend_ brought us the wrong men."

"But, Capitán..." Sergeant Garcia hesitated, visibly annoyed at having to stay up through the night.

"You may sleep this afternoon while we let these four idiotas roast in the heat. Dismissed!"

Both men saluted and walked out of his office. Monastario was not sure, but he thought he saw excitement in Corporal Garat's eyes. It seemed at least one of his men would be happy staying up tonight.

* * *

"This is totally ridiculous," Diego muttered to himself in self-consciousness. He had donned Zorro's clothes to sneak into the hacienda Escudero, in case someone saw him. He could simply not afford acting like a thief as Diego in the pueblo of Los Angeles, this would totally ruin his family reputation, not to mention incur his father's wrath.

The young man shuddered at the frightening thought, and resumed his search of... he did not even know what he was looking for. Tonio had a way sometimes of making him do things against his will, and he had no idea how he managed to convince him every single time. His baseless suspicions were borderline paranoid, though Diego could not help but feel intrigued by his ideas. It was indeed strange that Doctor Garat had made the effort of writing a message on a handkerchief, and that Tonio maybe had been followed on his way from Monterey.

All the while feeling naked in broad daylight, Zorro sneaked into the various rooms of the hacienda, making sure before entering them to listen for a while, to confirm no servants would be around doing their usual business. The house was big, but Zorro had thankfully not seen many people inside.

Not knowing what exactly he was looking for, except perhaps for some suspicious clue about Mateo, or Tonio's lost pocket watch, Zorro randomly opened closets, boxes, drawers, looked for hidden things on or behind bookshelves, felt for objects that could have been stuffed into the cushions lying on the couch. His frustration was growing by the minute, along with a feeling of shame at his own actions, which were totally un-Zorro like.

Mateo's bedroom was bare of any decorations except for a book lying on the bed, a portrait hanging on the wall across the door, and a small chest of drawers containing various items that had absolutely nothing suspicious about them. No pocket watch in sight. The last room to search was the Señora's, which Diego had kept last, unable to shake away the shame at what he was about to do. Entering a Doña's room felt like violating a sanctuary, and some unspoken caballero rule of conduct. Only Zorro's mask gave him the courage of what he was about to do.

Without a creak, the door opened, and the fox sneaked in slowly. He then closed the door and looked around, unable to refrain from gasping. The bedroom was a bright, refreshing pink, its large three-fold balcony windows adorned by luscious curtains, a faint smell of a woman's perfume permeating the air. The large bed stood in the middle, and its blankets had something about them that made them look more like puffy clouds than actual linens.

As Zorro opened the drawers, he could not help but marvel at the jewels and trinkets, and the quality of the cloth stored in them. Yet, no definite clues to help Tonio. Noting the beautiful and intricate pattern carved on the wooden closet, the caballero opened the doors and was assailed by a regiment of embroidered dresses, scarfs, and veils, their vibrant colors shining in the sunlight. His hands searched in vain for any hidden things again, until a small detail caught his eye.

Slowly pulling on the odd piece of clothing that did not fit with anything else in the wardrobe collection, Zorro ended up unfolding a simple, dirty dress, one only the poorest of peón would wear. It was torn in some places, and was of some undefined color between beige and gray. As he held it up in the air, a shawl fell on the floor.

Zorro frowned, a nagging sensation of déjà vu striking his mind. Where had he seen this shawl? After a moment, he shook his head, and picked up the cloth to put it back where he had taken it.

Instinctively, before his brain could register what his senses had just told him, Zorro froze in place, unable to finish the gesture. He quickly spun on his heels to regain his standing position, and in the same swift gesture reached out for his sword. However, despite his agile reflexes, he stopped when his eyes met the dark muzzle of a pistol aimed at him.

* * *

_I do not know exactly when Diego's mother Chiquita de la Cruz passed away, nor what she died from, from any "official" source of Zorro I have handy. Diego, in the time frame I am using, was born in 1782, the flashback in this chapter is set mid-1784, so I chose to put her in a "cameo appearance", because I never read a fanfic who featured her alive (disregarding Allende's book of course) :) She gave half her genes to our favorite hero, I wanted to thank her for it, in a way. I always pictured her a with a strong character even though she is most often described as soft and gentle. How else could she stand up to the fiery Don Alejandro we all love so much? And, I picked the name McCulley gave her, not "Esperanza" as Hollywood decided to rename her._

_Next: Action!_


	11. Chapter 11

_After reading this chapter, I think there's possibly two reasons you will not like me :) So here's the trivia: what would those two reasons be? Answers at the end of this chapter!_

_Also, I am looking for a beta reader, I have made numerous requests around but it seems the beta readers are either not active anymore (despite their active tag on their profile) or not interested. If any one of the 30+ silent strangers reading my story would be interested, please let me know, I would really, really appreciate the help. I seek support and feedback on story structure, plot pacing and, of course, vocabulary (being a non native English speaker, I feel I could improve in that area)._

_2008-10-25 edit: I changed a few details, mostly based on IcyWaters review of this chapter (I totally agree!) Thanks for pointing out a weak part :)_

_Chapter 12 is in beta process right now. Coming soon!  
_

* * *

The door of the oficina closed behind them with a soft squeak. Now it was time to go back in the heat, and the tremendous effort required to ignore it. As Sergeant Garcia's eyes squinted in the bright sun, he thought night patrol would not be such a bad idea after all. The only thing that kept him barely alert in this hot temperature was the comforting thought of a good glass of wine at the tavern. Even now, the mere idea made him smile inwardly, and he heard his stomach growl in the expectation of some good food that could accompany such a refreshment.

The large man rubbed his belly distractedly, dreaming of the forthcoming meal, and the nap that he was now _allowed_ to have freely. What a heavenly gift!

"Sergeant, what kind of man do you think Zorro is?"

Garcia shrugged as his thoughts shifted to the masked man. Corporal Garat's voice sounded excited. Young men, these days! Any occasion was good to run around and disturb the peace any Spanish citizen should be able to enjoy freely. The Sergeant never had such boiling blood in his veins, and he had always wondered why everyone around him was so energetic, hot-tempered, and impatient to get things moving.

"I don't know, Corporal," he ventured, unsure of what to say.

"Sergeant, you can be honest with me, I won't tell anyone," Garat winked at him as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"The Capitán is pretty sure he is a caballero," Garcia said in a lower voice. "I mean, he saved the Torres women from prison. He also warned the rebellious—"

"Sergeant, I read the reports. I want to know what _you_ think of him."

Garcia's thoughts came to a stop. How did he feel about Zorro? Why was Garat interested in his opinion? The Capitán never asked him what he thought of anyone.

"Well, Corporal," the rotund man's fingers fumbled on his chest and hips. The question made him very uncomfortable. He clearly remembered the strange, unfamiliar feelings he had experienced when the Comandante kicked out of the army. Even though it was part of a scheme to get closer to Zorro, all Garcia had ever known was life in the Army, and he felt totally lost without the routine of a soldier's life, and the assurance of his officers. When had been about to give up and return to the cuartel, the masked man had replied to his request to join his ranks. How elated he had felt!

Garcia had also felt relief when Zorro helped the natives the Capitán had ordered beaten at Mission San Gabriel. Were those forbidden thoughts? Would cheering up an outlaw be considered treason?

"Yes?" Garat was staring at him, and the intensity in his eyes made Garcia look down.

"I don't think he is such a bad man," he finally whispered, unable to actually admit he really thought he was a _good_ man. "He never more than scratched or humiliated our soldiers, and I never saw him kill anyone. I'm pretty sure he would save any good citizen from ... danger." Garcia's head slightly turned away from the Corporal. He felt uneasy. The way he had said things, Garat could infer he meant the Capitán had put people into danger, if Zorro had deemed necessary to intervene.

The young man's silence unnerved Garcia. The Sergeant took a deep breath, ready to blurt out excuses. "Listen, I—"

"Sergeant, you're the best!" Garat declared loudly with a pat on the large man's shoulder, a large grin creasing his features.

"I am?" Garcia asked. The soldier's glee made him smile though he had no idea why. "What did I do?"

"See you later for night patrol, Sergeant!" Without further ado, the young man hurriedly walked away, leaving his puzzled superior behind.

"What did I do?" Garcia repeated to no one in particular.

* * *

So, this was the pueblo of Nuestra Reina de los Angeles. Martínez looked around with a dejected gaze, unimpressed by the scene in front of him. Dusty buildings, dusty peónes, dusty horses, and the ever present dusty air, the intense heat of noontime making sure it would not settle for a while. The tall man sniffed with disdain as he spurred his horse forward to find the nearest inn, slowly making his way through the half-crowded streets among strangers who did not even look up to him.

One delicious thought has been occupying his mind for the last few days. Without shame, Martínez let his possessive feelings and desires overcome his bored self for a moment, and a smile lit his face. Pilar Fuentes. What an amazing, fierce woman. Everything about her demanded attention: the way she spun her wrists, cocked her head, her sure steps, the curls of her black hair, her hips... Eventually, he would have the nerves to talk to her, and one thing that may help towards that is the duel with the Frenchman.

Martínez had ridden ahead of Pilar to make sure he would be in town before her, but also to give himself time to find the boy and finish what he had started. The tall man's lips suddenly turned to a full grin when his lucky star shone upon him. His eyes spotted a white and blue uniform out of the crowd, and he instantly recognized the one he was looking for. The young man was also bearing a grin not unlike his own, but he hadn't looked in his direction, and seemed very intent on getting somewhere from the speed of his steps.

"I see you're still around, Martínez," a voice suddenly said next to him. Martínez kept staring at the Corporal until he disappeared at a corner, and finally turned his head to look down at the man who had just spoken.

"Got something on your mind, amigo?" he said coldly, the smile disappearing from his face. "I'll be busy, no time to do your dirty work."

"If you're still looking for the other half of the payment, I might have something for you. Just thought you might want to hear about it."

Martínez let a few seconds pass, considering his options. "Speak up."

"I got to do something in town for now, but if you could follow Garat for the next couple of hours and report what he did and where he's been, you'd get the other half." The stranger paused. "Just make sure you do this _before_ you fight him... and if he dies, well, kiss the money good-bye."

"Garat, eh? What's he got that's so important he needs to be watched?"

The man glared at him. "I'm not paying you to ask questions."

Martínez looked up at the sky for a moment, trying to figure out what the stranger wanted. There had to be something going on, and it must be related to money. Lots of it. What else could he possibly want from this youngster?

"Hmmm," the tall man finally muttered with a slight nod.

"I'll find you later then."

The stranger slapped Martínez's horse on the rump to send it forward, and when the rider looked back the man was already gone, disappeared in the busy crowd.

* * *

Hidden among the peasants, one unnoticeable person was trying to look more interested in the object he was examining on the street merchant's table, than with what he had just seen happening a short distance away. Martínez was in town!

Bernardo's heart was racing, and he was already worried his friend Antoine might be in trouble. He had heard the man saying he would be back for another duel, and at that time the look in his eyes had told he would keep his promise, at any cost. What was even more worrisome though, is that he seemed to have an accomplice. Though he did not hear a word of what they had said to each other, the way the other man was able to conceal his features from most people around him told a lot about what he had to keep secret. If Martínez was to be believed, could this stranger be the other one who had been following Antoine since Monterey?

Thankfully, Martínez had not seen him when both men parted. However, Bernardo almost lost sight of the other man as he mingled in the crowd with ease. Without wasting one second, and trusting his instinct more than logic, the dumb man dashed forward and followed the stranger. Martínez had seemingly no ambitions other than a duel, and though he was a threat to his friend Antoine, this other man's hidden intentions could be worse... and there was only one way to find out.

Bernardo tried to be discreet as he fought his way through the people. When he turned at the street corner, he frantically tried to spot the man among all the movement, to no avail. If he could speak, he would have uttered a curse, but he simply shook his head and tried to figure out where the man could have gone. There were not many possibilities, and again, out of intuition more than reason, the mute ran into a small, empty alley nearby.

The sudden quietness was almost eerie, and made Bernardo slow down. There was no one here, but the servant listened intently for any sound that could give the stranger's presence away. He speedily walked forward again, darting his eyes here and there among the piles of rubbish against the dirty walls.

The ground was too hard for anyone to leave footprints. Bernardo sighed, annoyed that he had lost track of the dubious figure. He stopped walking and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, suddenly noticing the faint, disgusting smells tainting the air.

"Hola, Señor," a voice suddenly whispered in his back.

Forgetting all about his deaf cover, Bernardo readily stood up in genuine surprise, already regretting the gesture as he gave away his secret. He tried to turn around to see who had spoken, but he suddenly felt a sharp pain at the base of his neck. His mouth opened but could not let any sound out, and his vision blurred as he lost his balance and fell to his knees. He clumsily grabbed his temples to will away the dizziness, and with a flash of good sense he remembered to look up to identify the attacker. For one brief moment, his eyes met those of the one who had hit him, but before he could register his features, everything turned to darkness and the last thing he heard was the thumping sound his body made against the ground.

* * *

The bare landscape and its rocky outcroppings rapidly passed by unnoticed, their oppressive and eerie effect lost on the lone rider. As he rode further and further from Los Angeles, the young man urged his steed to run faster, until he felt the big brown could maintain a steady speed without becoming tired too quickly.

Antoine had been warned by his fellow soldiers that he should be wary of the spirited horse he picked for his afternoon errand, but his instincts had told him the animal was of no danger to him. He was initially surprised at the strong, impetuous character of the animal, but after a few awkward minutes of getting back into horse riding, Antoine was rapidly filled with elation and a sense of freedom he had not felt for many months. He had not realized how long he had gone without riding a horse, the months aboard La Princesa depriving him of this pleasure, and the joy of running across the plains seemed to be happily shared by both rider and beast.

Still, the young soldier had only a vague idea of where he was heading, not knowing the area around the pueblo. He had quickly stopped at Don Alejandro's hacienda to get some directions, as the old man was probably one of the very few in town who had known Jacques Garat from more than twenty years ago. The don had told him he had spoken but a few times with the Doctor, and had not personally known the man very well, but he remembered the general location of his house.

Antoine was not surprised at being told his father had been distant. A look at the surroundings told Antoine the area was probably uninhabited, a fitting place that only his father could have chosen to settle in. He wondered if there was anything left of the old house, and if finding it would trigger some long lost childhood memories.

Shaking his head to return to the present, Antoine suddenly slowed down his mount by pulling on its reins. The soldier noticed numerous hoofprints on the ground. Someone had been in the area recently, though he wondered why, as the area was of no particular interest, nor was it close to any major road.

An escalating sense of foreboding gripped his chest, and with a grunt Antoine dismissed it as he once more spurred his mount forward, following the clean tracks to where they were heading. After a moment, he could make out an old adobe house not too far ahead of him.

As Antoine approached it, he slowly looked around and took a deep breath. This must be his parents' house, there was nothing else remotely close in the neighborhood. He tried to stir up some memories, but nothing specific about his first home would come up. Antoine had left California when he was six, but he could hardly remember anything, except for his mother's smile, the comfort of her arms, her smell... but most vividly, the feeling of awkwardness after she passed away. The young child he was had never fully understood what had happened, nor why his father became so distant, so difficult to talk to.

Still deep in his thoughts, the soldier dismounted and tethered his horse to the nearby fence, which had dried up and fell apart, except for a pole which still had a piece of wood nailed to it. It vaguely looked like a cross, as if it were marking the final, resting place of—

No. Antoine had to stop his thoughts from going down that path. He did not understand what had possessed him to come here in the first place. He should let the ghosts of the past rest in peace, and just get on with his new life in California. He had good friends here, he had found a good challenge in trying to capture an outlaw, a possible way to go up in rank... why would he screw everything up by trying to figure out some meaningless message left by his father?

The young man was about to get back on his horse, but after struggling with his own twisted logic about leaving this place, curiosity took over. He _had_ to at least have one look inside. Before he could change his mind, Antoine walked briskly to the side door and opened it. He was greeted by a foul smell, which rapidly faded away as it went out with the draft. It seemed to come from something that had been burned on the ground, possibly a fire lit up by some poor soul seeking shelter in this abandoned place. The footprints looked fairly recent.

However, nothing was left in what seemed to have been the kitchen, except for a few broken pieces of ceramic plates and jars partially buried in the ground. The door frame against the next wall led to another empty room, larger than the kitchen.

With a sigh, Antoine wiped his forehead with his sleeve, realizing just now he had been holding his breath since he had entered the abandoned house. He had anxiously expected memories to come flowing back, but nothing was familiar with this bare place, not even the view through the small windows. An oppressive silence surrounded him, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, so loud it almost covered the sound of his footstep and his rapid breathing.

His own overreaction suddenly brought out a chuckle, which totally sounded out of place. Holding on to the thought that Diego had been right all along to call him insane, he slowed down his breathing and continued his stroll through the adobe house while examining everything in sight for any clue, and finally ended up in the master bedroom.

Unlike the other rooms, a bookshelf had been left against the wall, probably too large to come out through the door frame. Small, broken drawers lay in pieces on the ground, and Antoine slowly bent down to examine one. The wooden handle was shaped into an oval, and upon touching it, the young man realized with a pang in his chest that these were from the chest of drawers right next to his parents' bed.

Where Mother died.

With a shudder, Antoine stood up and finished examining the room. Whatever his father had meant by the odd message on the handkerchief, he would not find the key to this puzzle here. There was nothing left around, no dubious object to examine, no scribble on the walls, not even a symbol or a mark laid down.

"Did you find what you were looking for, amigo?"

The voice made Antoine jump so hard he yelped. Grabbing his sword's hilt and spinning on his heels, he turned to face the familiar presence, face flushed with embarrassment from having been caught off guard.

"Martínez," he muttered between clenched teeth, wondering how the man had been able to sneak in without a sound. Could the hoofprints Antoine had noticed earlier be his? How could Martínez have known where he was headed? This didn't make sense at all.

"Hey, I found you," he smirked, pointing at his shoulder. "How's that wound?"

"Why do you care?"

"We got something to finish, remember?"

"How could I forget..." Antoine whispered to himself, unconsciously scratching his right shoulder. It felt like a bruise, nothing more, but dueling could very well make it worse.

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Martínez deliberately unsheathed his sword with a slow gesture. "So, what's this place to you? The way I scared you, I guess someone died here. With my help, maybe you can join the other ghosts of this dirty place, eh?" Martínez taunted.

Antoine knew the man was trying to make him angry, but he was able to control his emotions and calm himself down. His heartbeat returned to normal, and after a moment, he took out his own weapon in the same leisured manner.

"En garde," Antoine simply replied with a feeling of déjà vu.

Martínez grinned as the tip of their swords clinked together.

* * *

The cuartel's prison cells were facing south, for a very good reason. In Los Angeles, afternoons could get hellishly hot, and today did not seem an exception to the rule even though it was not even summer yet. Still, despite the fact that he was sweating like a pig, Hernán Sanz sat against the wall of his cell with an arrogant smile on his face, the only means he had to annoy the soldiers on guard duty watching over he and his friends. The temptation was great to simply take a nap, but he had to remain awake and alert, and be ready for their upcoming task. The other should not be too long now.

"Hey, would it be too much to ask for water?" Vinicio yelled to no one in particular.

"Oh Vini, come on, at least ask for some wine, no one here feels like drinking water," Manolo complained loudly. Hernán laughed silently at the stupid comment, but he heard his friends roaring in their cells.

Four guards instead of the usual two were patrolling the inner courtyard, and they were visibly annoyed at the men they were watching over, though one of them shook his head with a sigh and left his post to fetch a bucket and some cups at the well. He grudgingly carried it back to the cells, making sure not go to Vinicio's first.

The soldier deliberately put down his musket against the stone wall and glared down at Hernán. "What are you waiting for, stupid. Come up and drink," he growled, throwing a cup through the bars.

The prisoner picked it up slowly, and finally looked up at the guard. The man was grinning. Hernán's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and it took him a moment to recognize his captor.

He smiled back. It was time.

* * *

Focused as he was onto writing the report about this morning's interrogations, Monastario did not really hear at first the commotion outside his office. He dismissed it as routine practice, until he realized that both his Sergeant and Corporal were theoretically not around to lead the regular exercise.

With an angry grunt, the Capitán put down his quill and rose from his chair, intent on finding out what was going on in the middle of the afternoon. Could it be Zorro again? It was certainly not his style to be annoying the Army during daytime!

As he put his hand on the office door to open it, Monastario was violently thrown back a few steps as it got pushed in by someone's back. Disoriented, the officer tried to make sense of the situation, but before he could reach for his sword he was grabbed by the collar and a pistol was forcefully pushed against his jaw.

"Greetings, Comandante," the prisoner he recognized as Rafael said. "I recommend you sit back in your chair, it will make things easier for you."

"How—" Monastario started protesting.

"Wrong question. You should ask 'What now?'"

"Spare me the witty humor," the officer growled as he was slowly coerced back into his chair by the big man. As Rafael dutifully kept the pistol against Monastario's cheek, he took the Capitán's sword out and threw it at Manolo, who caught it with his free hand. The other was holding a musket stolen from one of the guards.

"Step back, everyone, else we hurt your friend and your Comandante here!" Hernán barked over the noise. Monastario realized this bandit was also armed with a pistol, and it was aimed at the guard he and Vinicio were gripping by the shoulders. All three of them had their backs to him as Hernán closed the door of the office with his foot, successfully keeping the soldiers outside with his threat.

Monastario was baffled. How could four prisoners in four different cells escape so easily, during day time with double guard duty, and manage to capture one of the soldiers and the commanding officer? Were his men that incompetent?

"Check that door, Manolo, and make sure to shoot anyone who dares come too close to it," Hernán ordered. He and Vinicio then walked behind Monastario's desk and bumped the unarmed guard against the wall.

"You're not going to get out of here!" the Capitán managed to say before the pistol was pushed even harder against his cheek.

"Don't try to make a commitment you won't be able to respect, Enrique," one of the men said in his back.

Monastario's chest inflated with anger and he jumped out of his chair, dangerously forgetting about the weapon aimed at him.

"Who—"

"Calm down, calm down, we certainly don't want any mistake to happen now, do we?" A hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him back into a sitting position.

Monastario turned his head to look at it, and he could not refrain from gasping when he saw the blue fabric of the sleeve. The hand belonged to someone wearing a uniform.

The captive guard. He was the one who helped the bandits out.

"He knows," Manolo said with a smile when he saw the look on Monastario's face. Quiet laughter erupted behind the officer.

"We're deeply sorry about all this, Enrique, but we'll have to drag you out of here, and you don't seem to be in the mood to quietly walk out with us acting as your bodyguards," the soldier said. "Someone... special to you would not be too happy about it if you got hurt in the process."

Before he could say a word, Monastario felt a damp piece of cloth cover his nose and mouth. He shook his head and tried not to breathe, but it was too late. His muscles went limp, and his last thought before losing consciousness was about who on earth the man had meant by 'someone special'.

* * *

_Answers to trivia:  
1. I did not mention Zorro once in this chapter :) He still got a pistol pointed him... poor Diego.  
2. More cliffhangers... don't we love those?_

_**Next**: Diego gets into serious trouble, Antoine sweats a lot, and it's panic time at the cuartel. By the way, where is Imelda? I might be able to throw in a flashback too...  
_

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

_Yes, it lives! After a month of relentless searching, I finally found people that were willing to beta read this story. Then I got into the "waah, I have all these TV shows to watch" __mode __ (I am addicted to Smallville among others, though I don't read fanfic about this series) and I basically took some vacation from writing, which is not really good in itself for me since I already spend a lot of time into researching details and rewording everything a million times before I am satisfied with it. Having the views of others is SO great I don't even know how I could have written so much before actually asking for some help. You'd be surprised how many faulty things are in these chapters so far =)_

_Also, I may take the occasion to give you some facts about the character of Carlos Martínez, played by Tony Russo. This actor originally auditioned for the role of Zorro (as did Britt Lomond, who ended up playing our favorite villain), and even though he lost the role to Guy Williams, the crew liked him a lot and hired him to play Martínez... and in season 2 he played another bad guy named Pedro Avila. Needless to say, he and Guy both knew fencing, and I just adore their sword fights in this TV show, because they are so realistic! No need for computer effects, or to cut scenes or do insane close-ups to hide the fact that actors did not know how to handle these weapons. Same applies for Monastario vs Zorro fights!_

_Enough blahblahblah now, enjoy chapter 12! Thanks to VH, Icy and Mim for the GREAT insights. Tons of help in putting this one together! Your comments gave me the energy I needed to finally finish this one chapter.  
_

_

* * *

_Silence had settled for a moment, as surprise made way for appraisal.

The masked man took a deep breath and slowly brought his hand up to tip the brim of his hat, briefly taking his eyes off the muzzle to silently salute with an ambiguous smile the Señorita standing in front of him. The hand clutching the pistol was steady. A brief look to her side revealed the other hand was holding a short stick, which seemed rather fragile to be a weapon.

Despite the fact that the man she was facing seemed to be twice her size, the frail, young lady in front of Zorro stood still as if she had been carved out of stone, not even blinking at his gesture. Her hollow eyes and thin mouth gave her a severe look, though she could be thought of as pretty if she could bring herself to smile.

After a moment, Zorro cleared his throat, unable to decide what to do. He was a man of action, used to taunts, adrenaline, gloating, sword fights. His enemies were always open books when they came face to face. The Señorita, however, was a puzzle. What were her intentions? Why was her manner so austere and unflinching? Her silence particularly unnerved him. Here they stood without purpose, each passing second an opportunity for something Zorro could not predict. If he could take the advantage of surprise, maybe he could grab the pistol and—

"I would not do that if I were you, Señor," she said softly, taking a short step back to stay out of reach.

Zorro closed his eyes briefly, and then shrugged as if to excuse himself from even thinking about escaping.

"What were you looking for?" she asked bluntly.

"The exit, Señorita. It seems I got lost."

The comment fell on deaf ears, and the young woman stood resolute, waiting for the proper answer.

Zorro wet his lips before speaking. Better go for some sort of half-truth instead of playing useless games.

"Someone I know lost something, he thought it could be here. I'm afraid it isn't. I was really about to go."

"Why didn't he come here himself and ask about it?"

"He's a strange friend."

"I didn't know Señor Zorro had strange friends."

The masked outlaw gave a stubborn frown at the comment. The conversation was really starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

"What are your intentions now that you caught me, Señorita? I find it rather strange that you haven't called for help yet," Zorro said boldly, hoping to stir the situation toward action. Standing still almost made his muscles ache from all the tension. The tall man did not understand why, but he had a very bad feeling about this whole affair, and he already regretted searching the hacienda like a mere thief on such idle reasons.

"If I were you," he continued on the same tone, "I would be careful with that pistol. Someone could get hurt. For all I know, you are the clumsy servant who spilled boiling water on Señora Escudero's hand. "

The Señorita frowned slightly, finally displaying some sort of human reaction. "What? She burned it herself. I... Don't move, Señor Zorro," she focused her gaze on him, menacingly pulling the hammer of her flintlock pistol, probably thinking it was another attempt by Zorro to distract her.

However, she had mistaken the outlaw's reaction. _She burned it herself_. With a sudden flash, Zorro vividly remembered where he had seen the shawl he had found in Señora Escudero's wooden closet, and he had unconsciously clenched his fists from the sheer surprise of the memory.

The curious woman at the abandoned house. The one with the red, swollen hand, just like Señora Escudero's this morning. She was wearing that shawl. How could it be? These two women could not possibly be the same; Zorro would have recognized the Señora when he saw her with the Comandante as he brought in the bandits, or even when he bumped into her by accident. Yet, that woman's clothes were here, and there was no denying both wounds looked exactly the same.

This memory brought about an even more disturbing thought. The strange woman had recognized him as the fox, even saying it _made sense_. What had she meant by that?

Now that he was thinking about it, Zorro found it rather strange that she had also mentioned something about a lion watching over a common friend they had. He had not really given more thoughts to her words, tired as he was back then, and more worried about the bandits than their strange conversation. Who was the lion? How could she know about any friend of his since they had never met before?

Zorro's mind was on fire, every odd thing she had said sending his thoughts on a different tangent. Also, the manner in which she led him to the bandits... Zorro did not even question her, and when he spied on these men at their camp, they did look guilty as charged, and he simply assumed it was them.

What if he had been wrong? What if this was some sort of elaborate setup? But then, why go through all this effort to have the wrong men captured?

All of this... made _no_ sense. Too many questions, and none with a clear path to an answer. Perhaps—

"I've heard of your skills, Señor," the Señorita said, but her voice sounded far away. "You bear your name well. Turn around now," she motioned with her pistol.

Perfect. An opportunity to get out of this little mess. Pushing all disturbing thoughts aside, Zorro darted a look around the room before doing as ordered. The balcony was merely a few steps from his position. If he could avoid the bullet from the pistol by acting swiftly, he would stand a chance of escaping without anyone getting hurt.

His back now facing the Señorita, Zorro waited for the next part.

"Now, step forward and—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Zorro suddenly dropped close to the floor, throwing his silky cloak in the air with a grand gesture in the hope of confusing the Señorita. The pistol was fired in almost the same instant, and luckily missed as predicted.

Zorro made a run for the balcony. Within seconds he had opened one of the windowed doors and he was out, frantically searching for a quick way down before the Señorita could reload her weapon. With a faint smile he spotted the ivy growing along the wooden pillars supporting the balcony, and before jumping over the edge, he silently thanked whoever had made every Spanish gardener grow vines around Californian haciendas.

Both hands grabbed the small branches as his body rolled over, but his weight, combined with the speed of his fall, was too much for the plant, and the branches snapped almost instantly. However, they did slow him down enough to prevent serious injury, and Zorro landed with both feet on the ground, before losing his balance shortly after. He lay on his back, glancing upward from whence he had come, as he tried to catch his breath.

The Señorita stood there, looking at him from her perched position. The pistol was still in her hand, but it was pointed down, not at Zorro. Before the masked man could react, she quickly put the short stick she had been holding to her lips, and blew in it.

Zorro felt something sharp sting his upper left arm. His hand instinctively went for it, and he pulled out a tiny, feathered dart. He did not understand what this meant, but he had better made a run for it before—

"Nina! What's going on here?! I heard a shot, where are you?"

Zorro recognized the voice. It was Mateo. He could hear him running towards them just on the other side of the stone wall around the hacienda. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and whistled for Tornado as he ran to the door, hoping to reach it before the young man would.

Mateo opened it first, but he had not expected someone to be right in his face, and the surprise was enough for the outlaw to push him back before he could do something. Tornado was right there, galloping towards them. All Zorro had to do was dash forward, grab the reins, jump on the saddle, and he would be gone.

A solid jerk on his cloak prevented him from doing so.

"Good reflexes, young man," Zorro said with a chuckle, realizing Mateo had grabbed his cape in all the confusion.

"What—what is going on here?" he asked, bewildered.

Zorro looked at him over his shoulder and smiled. "Sorry, I can't stay long enough to chat."

In one swift motion, he untied his cloak and ran away, leaving the puzzled young man behind him. Tornado made a whinnying sound when Zorro mounted up, and within a blink both man and beast were gone.

* * *

Still sitting in the cart parked near her hacienda, Imelda stared with a smile at the cloud of dust Zorro had left in his wake. This fox was a cunning one indeed. She wondered what his invading her house meant. For some reason, he must be aware of something dubious about either herself or Mateo. Zorro was not a mere thief, she was sure of that, but she doubted he had found anything useful.

Her gaze shifted to her son, who was walking back to the cart with his prized possession in his hand.

"Mother, I..." he hesitated.

"Mateo, what is the meaning of all this?" she teased him, weaving her fan emphatically towards Zorro's escape route.

"I... don't know."

Some of the servants were now running out and scouting the area around the hacienda, wondering what had happened after hearing the gunshot. Among them was Nina, with the usual impenetrable expression carving her features that everyone found so disturbing. The young woman was quietly walking towards Imelda and Mateo, and greeted them with a curt nod.

"Señora, Señor," she said softly.

"Nina, are you all right? What happened?" Mateo asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice.

Nina barely acknowledged his presence. She was staring at Imelda with a neutral gaze.

"Zorro found the dress and the shawl, Señora. I missed when I fired the pistol, but I got him with a dart," she declared. "I don't know how deep it went though."

"Dear, dear," Imelda shook her head with a smile. "I guess now it's only a matter of time before we find out who Zorro really is."

"Why is that, Mother?" Mateo asked with a frown.

"Well, he's been poisoned, of course. We just have to watch out for the man who will obviously be suffering from the symptoms."

._.. and this will surely keep the meddlesome curiosity of the fox out of my little business_, Imelda thought as her smile faded away.

"Mother, there's a reward for catching him."

Imelda giggled. "Of course you can have it Mateo. I have other, more urgent things to attend to right now."

* * *

Antoine and Martínez were breathing heavily. They had dropped all pretenses as their bodies neared exhaustion. The fight had started with both of them wary of each other. The blades clashed and slithered, touched and rang with the continual music of a fierce fight in which two adversaries were assessing each other, backing away, pressing forward, learning the feel of each other's swordplay while never giving the advantage to the other.

Throughout the course of the struggle, Martínez had knocked over the remaining bookshelf onto the floor, and Antoine had thrown the broken drawers, missing his enemy and shattering them on the wall instead. Both men had finally managed to get out of the adobe house, the enclosed space making it difficult for them to properly fence. They were now in the open, staring into each other's eyes like any good fencers did, waiting for the mistake the other one would eventually be making.

"I knew I could count on you, Frenchman," Martínez murmured between gasping breaths and a smirk.

Antoine ignored him and unleashed a low thrust, which Martínez avoided by retreating and moving sideways with a grunt. The dark-haired man stumbled on a pebble and almost lost his balance, and had Antoine been in better shape he would have been able to take advantage of this. However he was too tired, and with a weapon that seemed heavier by the second, he simply stood there, sweating and panting, while his opponent recovered his balance somewhat clumsily.

The young soldier wanted to press the fighting, but he was glad for this short respite. He wiped beads of perspiration from his face with his left hand, lowering his guard slightly for a moment. He immediately regretted doing so when Martínez ferociously lunged forward, darting his steel dangerously close to Antoine's fighting arm, who barely avoided the attack by awkwardly parrying from his disadvantaged posture.

He tried to recover with a riposte but Martínez did not waste another second. Probably sensing his opponent's sudden weakness in the wrist, the man deceived Antoine's feeble attack with a quick circle around the soldier's blade, which was turned aside by the gesture. To Antoine's surprise, his weapon was sent flying in the air, and before he was fully conscious of the situation, the young man was violently thrown on the ground with a kick in the stomach, and he immediately felt the cold pressure of the tip of a sword against his throat. Up above him was the smug smile of his enemy, who had finally won the duel he had been coveting so much.

* * *

The door opened slowly, revealing a gray-haired man with a neutral look.

"Yes?" he inquired with a thick accent, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"P...Please... help... Señor!" the native woman stuttered before she dropped to her knees, holding on to her young daughter wrapped in fur blankets. She was a sorry sight, but it seemed that before she could make even more of a fool of herself, Gaspar grabbed her shoulder while gently putting a hand on her forehead.

"You are feverish, Madame. I will go get Docteur Garat right away," he calmly said.

"Señor! I am not here... for..." the woman said as stood up with difficulty. "Our Healer... can't..." she muttered. "Sick... take... her..." She gently pushed her child into Gaspar's arms. The baby started crying as soon as she left her mother's custody, but the latter seemed resolute in leaving her precious package in the care of someone else.

"Madame, you're not—"

Gaspar could not finish his sentence. The stranger collapsed on the ground unconscious. The man stood still for a second, visibly unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"What is going on here?" Jacques came running out of the adobe house, immediately kneeling next to the body.

"She collapsed, Monsieur. High fever, I—"

"Gaspar," Jacques cut him off. "She's dead."

"But... Monsieur. What about this... sick baby?" The servant seemed at a loss, looking up and down in confusion.

Jacques slowly stood up with a frown, and looked around the area, as if he could find an answer to this question in the air around him. After a quick sweep, he sighed heavily.

"I don't know, but her condition may be contagious. I don't want to risk Deiña and Antoine's health. Let's go in town, report this incident. Maybe someone will be able to identify this woman."

Imelda kept to the shadows of the tall rocks nearby, observing in silence. She was angry that Puluy had run away, unable to accept the fact that if her and her baby had been sick for so many months and could not be cured by the Healer, maybe it was a sign. A sign that some things were just not meant to be. The tribe had come to accept their condition and had done everything they could to assist them, but Puluy had been stubborn and had believed another Healer could help her child. At least she had not said anything that could have compromised Imelda's situation.

Still, this was disturbing. It was now time to consult the visions. Maybe they would reveal something different about the destiny of this weak little girl, if indeed that doctor could help her out with his foreign medicine.

With a faint smile, Imelda watched as both men carefully wrapped Puluy's body into a large piece of cloth and put it up in a cart. They quickly rode away, leaving a cloud of dust behind them, Jacques holding the reins, and Gaspar the orphaned child.

* * *

For a while they were silent. Martínez knew that Antoine was starting to wonder why he was not making his final move. After all, he had been very adamant in pursuing a duel, he would certainly not let his prey go freely, especially not since Antoine was a soldier of his Majesty's Army. Besides, another 'wanted' poster bearing his name was the last thing Martínez needed at the moment.

"Before you kill me..." Garat muttered.

"... you want to know who's been following you, eh?" the tall man finished the sentence with a grin, happy that the little hint he had dropped during their first encounter had troubled the young boy so much.

"Was it Mateo?"

"The other chico who was driving the cart from Monterey? What a stupid idea!"

"I thought—"

"I don't know his name," Martínez interrupted. "He's a fairly ordinary fellow with an odd smile, you couldn't even spot him in an empty street... and he's very much interested in you."

"What for?" Garat grunted, a spark of anger lighting his eyes.

"I was actually hoping you'd tell me."

Martínez slightly pushed the tip of his sword into the soft skin of Garat's neck, emphasizing his request with a little twist. However, the sharp pain that must have been caused by this gesture did not seem to disturb the soldier, nor did the blood that trickled down into his collar. Instead his gaze shifted to the side, as if he were swimming deep into some troubling thoughts. Martínez let him ponder about his options, hoping he would reveal something about the money he suspected was the whole matter of this strange story.

"I know you're not going to like this, Martínez, but I have absolutely no idea why anyone would be interested in my whereabouts," Garat finally declared.

The swordsman shrugged. Deep down, he had not really expected any revelation from this young man.

"All right, chico. I don't really think this will save you, but I'll let you make your last prayer. You can—"

The soldier did not let him finish his sentence. Martínez realized a fraction of a second too late that when he shrugged a moment ago, he had not kept enough pressure on the sword against Garat soft skin, allowing him to free himself from the threat by hardening the muscles in his neck and swiftly rolling on the side. The sudden move was coupled with a kick to his shinbone, and Martínez lost his balance and dropped his weapon, yelping from the pain. Before he knew it, he was on the ground and the situation was reversed. The sharp end of a blade was now planted firmly against his chest.

"Give me one good reason not to run you through," Garat panted from the burst of effort.

For a moment, Martínez was able to control himself, but after a while it was too much for him and he burst out laughing. The look of utter confusion from the soldier only reinforced his merriment, and he kept on roaring.

"I have to say, chico, you've got spirit in you," Martínez admitted in all honesty, blinking away the tears that had formed at the corner of his eyes. Though he would never say it out loud, the tall man had really enjoyed this duel, even if he had somehow lost it. "You've earned your victory."

"You don't care if you die?" Garat asked, genuinely surprised by the unexpected reaction of someone about to get pierced by a sword.

"I do, but..." the dark man paused, his laughter now reduced to a grin. "You won't kill me, that's why I'm laughing."

"Oh?" Garat said sarcastically, twisting the weapon into the folds of his shirt.

"Look, if you really want to kill me, don't talk, just do it. I already made that mistake, and see where I am now?" Martínez winked, and folded his arms behind his head as if he were relaxing in the most comfortable position.

Garat frowned, and after a moment he cursed under his breath and kicked the ground with visible frustration.

"See? I told you," Martínez gloated. He had intuitively known about this young man's personality, having fought the likes of him before. He had killed people easily in the past, but he knew not everyone was like him. The Frenchman's moral values were all he ever needed to expect a fair duel, and be shielded against any serious injury.

"How is it that you knew about me being followed?"

"I was simply hired to steal your things on your way to Los Angeles. That fight in the tavern was part of that plan." He chuckled at the thought of how good that idea had been. Too bad it hadn't been his. "Your friends were just an unexpected interruption which prevented me from completing that task and getting full payment."

"The watch..." Garat mumbled, his face darkening from some realization.

"A watch? Is it worth a lot of money?" Martínez was now curious, trying to learn as much as he could from the soldier's inadvertent revelation. He hoped that confessing to the small plot would bring forth some clues to the bigger story that seemed to be lurking around Garat.

"Why did you seek me out a second time? You revealed the fact that I was followed. Didn't that change the initial plan?"

"Ha! You're not just good with a sword, chico," Martínez conceded. "I met that fellow again in Los Angeles, he wanted me to follow you while he was busy in town. I don't care why he needs to know where you've been, all I wanted was to duel you, and learn about that load of money he seems to think you're hiding."

"Money? I don't have anything worth stealing!" Garat screamed in anger. The sudden emotional reaction threw Martínez a little bit off. For all he could see, Garat was damn well honest about not knowing anything. Maybe he had been wrong about the money after all.

He shrugged. "Seems we hit a dead end, Frenchman. Care for something to drink? In my pocket there's—"

"Whatever you say," Garat muttered, putting his sword back into its scabbard.

Martínez stood up and dusted his dirty shirt and trousers, feeling disappointed about the outcome, but too tired to feel any anger at his loss. "There's no reason to make that face, you won a duel with Carlos Martínez, not many can claim that."

The man took a deep breath. "It looks like you're letting me go. I'll let you post one of those wanted posters if you want, just let me spend one night in the tavern before you do so... and maybe let me have my chance with this local outlaw called Zorro," he grinned. "He looks like another interesting challenge."

Garat spun on his heels. "Zorro?!"

"Yes. You know him? I heard he's quite the fighter."

"You..." the soldier paused, as if thinking twice about what he was going to say. "You are going to help me catch him."

The face Garat made when he spoke was a rather odd mixture of a smile and a frown. Combined with glinting eyes and slightly flushed cheeks... It worried Martínez more than anything he had ever seen in his life.

_

* * *

Yes, I finally decided to keep Bernardo out of this one. Unfortunately, you will have to wait a little longer before you learn about his fate._

_**Next**: Monastario wakes up in a strange place, Garcia has no idea what to do without his Capitán, and Diego... nah I won't say anything about Diego for now :) Interesting clues are coming in soon!_

_And.... Please take the time to review! _

_(begin author rant) Sigh. Please bear with me here. I have to say it once among those thousands of words I posted. It's an author thing...  
_

_So many hits and so few that take the time to say something... I don't need reviews, yet I do. See? I don't care if your English sucks (write it in French, Spanish, or Japanese, I understand all of these too), I don't care if you're shy (I don't know you! You're living under a virtual nickname on a website!), I don't care if you don't have time (liar! you do, you spend time on a fanfiction website!), to me there's absolutely no good excuse.... So please take 2 seconds to hit that little "submit review" button, and then blurt out anything that comes to mind in the pop up, good or bad. Tell me you hate me for making you feel guilty, tell me you hate me for being so slow, anything is good! __At least I would know I am not writing in the void for barely 6-7 people out there (among the numerous unique visitors I keep getting per chapter) (end author rant) :-) :-)  
_

_And just because I feel really nice to Zorro fans (a few I know are truly worth the effort, yes), I also started scanning the original pulp stories by none other than McCulley. You can grab the link off my profile page. Hopefully I will hear some 'thank you' but let's say I will not expect them (so I won't be disappointed). ;-)  
_

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi! I know it has been a long wait for some, but I have not forgotten you (nor my story!). I bet you have forgotten most of the details by now, and you're perhaps thinking of reading everything again? Ahah. Let me summarize quickly where we had left off with the characters:_

_Antoine Garat visited the abandoned house where his family used to live, and he just fought a duel with Martínez, who had been seeking his revenge for a few days now;  
Capitán Monastario lost consciousness after the bandits escaped the cuartel prison with the help of one of the guards;  
Diego got hit by a small dart while escaping the Escudero hacienda, where he discovered one of Imelda's strange secrets; __  
Bernardo was caught off guard and knocked unconscious after witnessing a discussion between a shady stranger and Martínez;  
__In the past, we have learned how Don Tomás passed away from a heart attack, and some hints at the relationship between Imelda and Jacques,who seemed angry at her;  
and we also had a glimpse at the origins of Nina._

_Hope that helps putting things back into context ;) Hope you enjoy chapter 13, which is WAY overdue...  
_

* * *

The notes of the old piano, resonating across the main room of the de la Vega hacienda, filled the air with their mechanical drone. Diego was absently hitting the keys, lost in his thoughts and merely playing out of habit. He had not even heard his father sigh heavily for the past few minutes. The old man was visibly annoyed by the horrible music to which he was being forced to listen.

"Diego! Would you stop that!" Alejandro finally exclaimed, emphatically closing the book he had been trying unsuccessfully to read. The dull sound made the young caballero jump and brought him back to reality. He cocked his head to the side, peeking out the window, noticing the fiery orange of the sky.

"I am sorry, Father," Diego whispered, unable to stop thinking about the events of the day. Taking his fingers off the keys, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a laced handkerchief. Slowly, he wiped the small beads of perspiration off his temples, and noticed with a frown that his left hand was still shaking slightly despite his best efforts to keep it still. Playing the piano was the only means he had found of hiding this weakness, which had developed a few hours after his return home. He thought at first he had injured himself from the fall off the balcony at Señora Escudero's hacienda, but after a closer examination, he had found nothing but a few bruises. The only other thing he had noticed was some redness and swelling on his upper left arm where he had been hit by the small dart, which he had immediately covered with ointment and a clean bandage to prevent infection.

Bernardo usually tended Diego's wounds, but his faithful friend had mysteriously disappeared without leaving a message, and no one in the hacienda had seen or heard of him since he and the caballero had left for town this morning. Deep in his heart, Diego hoped his friend would be back soon, but he could not help but worry about him.

The young man was also wondering what Tonio was doing right now. The spirited soldier would not miss the opportunity to learn what Diego could have found at the Escudero hacienda, and unless the Comandante had found a way to keep his soldiers busy, he should have run straight to the de la Vegas by now.

"What's on your mind, son?" Alejandro asked after an awkward silence.

"I... It's nothing serious, Father," Diego replied as he stood up. "I think I need some fresh air."

Nervously, he shook some invisible dust off his sleeves and headed for the door, not even sparing a glance at his father, who was frowning at yet another strange act from his son. As Diego distractedly opened the door, he suddenly came face to face with Sergeant Garcia, who was just about to knock.

"Ah, Don Diego, buenas tardes!" he mumbled in confusion.

Diego was surprised as well, not expecting a visit from the Sergeant. Even if Señora Escudero had reported the strange visit from Zorro at her hacienda earlier in the day, the sergeant would not have any reason to ride out to the de la Vegas and ask them about this incident.

"To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Sergeant Garcia?" Diego sighed, not wishing to spend the evening entertaining the rotund man.

Nervously, Garcia looked back over his shoulder and stepped in, closing the door behind him. He licked his lips, looking for his words.

"Well... What is it, Sergeant?" the young man repeated in a brisk tone.

"Don Diego... Don Alejandro... I... I do not know what to do. Well... The Comandante—"

"What has he done now!" Alejandro interrupted, anger already flushing his cheeks as he stood up.

"He's... been... kidnapped," the large soldier finally said.

* * *

The first thing Monastario saw when he woke up was... nothing. At first he grunted, unsure of what had happened, but the last events before he had lost consciousness came rushing through his mind faster than he could process them. He had been drugged by prisoners who had escaped his jail cells!

After the emotional flashbacks came the physical ones, and with burning anger the proud man pulled vainly on his restraints. Most insulting of all was the gag over his mouth, preventing him from uttering any curse related to his current situation.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he tried to squint his eyes and discern where he had been taken, but it was pitch black. The only things he could feel were the ropes digging into the flesh of his wrists and the leather of his boots; a faint dizziness, probably an aftereffect of the drug he had been given; the hard ground under him; and every single pebble which sent shards of pain through his back. The surrounding sounds of insects and birds indicated he was outside and not locked up in a room.

"Well, well... Seems he finally woke up," Monastario heard close by. He stiffened when he recognized the voice as Manolo's.

Suddenly, a thick drape was pulled, and the Comandante was blinded by the light of a burning torch raised high above him. Blinking, he tried to make out who had entered the tent, but the light was too bright, and he turned to his left, seeking some shelter for his eyes.

The gesture prompted another discovery. Bernardo! What was he doing here?! The mute servant of Don Diego was tied up just as well, lying down a few inches away in the same fashion. He was conscious also, and the look both men shared for a short moment was tainted with a mixture of resignation and fear.

"Hmm... The other one is awake too. What are we going to do with the quiet one there?" Vinicio asked with a snicker.

"I don't know yet, amigo, but it must be important if _he_ ordered us to keep an eye on him. I wonder what he did to—"

Vinicio laughed and emphatically clasped the other bandit's shoulder. "He probably just saw something he was not supposed to see."

Monastario wondered what the other was about to reveal inadvertently before he was cut short by a seemingly innocuous interruption.

"Yes, well... Now that our good friend _Enrique_ is awake, we can have some fun!" Manolo exclaimed, clasping his hands together.

On those words Monastario impulsively turned his head towards the two men, putting forth all his dignity and presence to make it clear he was not afraid of them. If only that cloth could be taken out of his mouth, they would feel the sting of his harsh words.

"Ohhhh, look, he's mad," Vinicio smirked, a vicious look darkening his features. "Too bad we have orders not to touch him!"

On those words, Vinicio grabbed his friend's arm and they both walked out of the tent, leaving the two prisoners alone in the dark once more. Muffled sounds and voices could be heard nearby, but the men were careful not to speak loud enough to be understood by their captives.

* * *

"What?! Kidnapped by whom?" Diego exclaimed in genuine surprise, grabbing Sergeant Garcia by the forearms.

"Those four bandits that Zorro brought in... They broke free of their cells and managed to escape, keeping the Comandante captive as protection. We spent the day looking for—"

"Sergeant," Diego cut in, guessing that the army had been unsuccessful at finding clues as to the bandits' hiding place. "Where is Corporal Garat? Is he looking for the Comandante too?"

"Well... That's just it Don Diego. Corporal Garat is nowhere to be found either. We were both off duty when the Comandante was taken away," the Sergeant muttered in a low voice, as if deeply ashamed of something.

Tonio? He had disappeared also? Was Bernardo's absence linked to this as well?

"I... I came here... seeking advice... and to ask for help. Our forces are spread thin and we have no idea where to look. I thought perhaps I could ask some of your men for help, and... I came here first, since Don Alejandro has... influence among the caballeros..." Sergeant Garcia's voice trailed off to a whisper, and he looked down, his head slightly shaking from side to side as if he already expected no for an answer.

"Are you serious, Sergeant!" Don Alejandro snapped. "This sad excuse of a Comandante is—"

"Father!" Diego interrupted the old man before anger got the upper hand. "Don't forget about the escaped prisoners, they may attack the pueblo again," he explained, hoping his guilt would not show up in his voice. "Tonio is missing as well, perhaps you should consider that fact as well," he said calmly, hoping his father would listen to reason over his deep hatred for Capitán Monastario.

Don Alejandro growled for a while, visibly juggling with his impetuous feelings. Finally, his jaw set, and with a determined look he nodded.

"Fine," he finally conceded. "I'll ask our men to help you with your search, only because I am worried about these dangerous bandidos. However, do not expect our vaqueros to be gladly helping the Army. I will speak with the other caballeros, as you may not get a warm welcome from them either."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro." Sergeant Garcia bowed nervously and quickly left the hacienda, visibly relieved that he got away without riling up the legendary temper of Don Alejandro de la Vega.

"Father," Diego whispered as the old man was about to exit the hacienda in the Sergeant's footsteps.

"What now, Diego?" Don Alejandro spun around to stare at his son, the sharp sting of his eyes speaking volumes about how he was not enjoying at all what he was about to do.

The young man was struggling with his own feelings right now. He certainly understood the desire to simply leave the Comandante to his own fate, but while it was ethically debatable to simply wish a man's death, it was certainly not acceptable to leave one to die if something could be done about it.

These four banditos who kidnapped Monastario were a mystery to Diego. Who were they, really? Had they any ties to Señora Escudero? If she were really the stranger who led Zorro to their lair, would it be too far-fetched to believe she had some devious plan in mind? Had he innocently carried out part of a plan that was aimed at Monastario? Though their meeting had only been fortuitous, Diego was not so certain anymore about Señora Escudero's intentions... Could her sudden, exaggerated interest in the Comandante be hiding something else?

Diego shook his head and blinked, willing away the slightly delirious undertones of his chaotic thoughts. One of the more troubling facts at hand was the unexplained absence of his friends Tonio and Bernardo. There might be a chance the Comandante's kidnapping and their disappearance were not linked, but the timing was a bad one.

"Father..." the young caballero looked up to the old man with a slightly worried look, keeping his arms crossed behind his back. "Could you tell me everything you remember about Jacques Garat?"

"Tonio's father? Why are you asking this now, son?" Don Alejandro was perplexed by the odd request.

"Well," Diego was treading upon dangerous ground now. He could not reveal his suspicions about the Escuderos, Garat, and possibly Monastario, without having to explain his actions as Zorro. "Tonio and I spoke about a few things, and as you know, his father's last wish was for him to come back in California. He was intrigued by the lack of reasons he had asked him to come here and—"

"Diego! What does this have to do with the Comandante?!" his father exclaimed, clearly annoyed.

The young man sighed. "Perhaps Tonio just went on some errand concerning family matters. I just want to try and find him so he can report back at the cuartel."

"Oh," Alejandro frowned, and was silent for a moment. "Tonio did stop by earlier today to ask me where his parents' house was located. I did not make much of it at the time, he seemed in a hurry."

"That's a good place to start," Diego acknowledged, feeling the blood rushing in his veins from the need to jump into action. However, he had to know if there were other clues that might help elucidate Tonio's whereabouts. "Did he ask for anything else? What do you remember about Tonio's father and mother?"

"Not much, actually. I barely knew Jacques Garat and his wife. We first spoke to each other when Don Tomás Escudero Manrique passed away. I never really told you that story, but my good friend had a heart attack in the middle of the street. Right in front of myself and Doña Imelda. He... The doctor was too late, Don Tomás was already gone... "

Diego watched as his father's eyes looked inwardly at the ghosts of his own past. So, there was some sort of link between the Escuderos and the Garats after all, though it did not really help clarify matters concerning Tonio.

"Aside from that, I never really met the Garats outside formal events. They lived a pretty secluded life far from the pueblo," he continued. "No one really knew why, we only wished the doctor could have been more available to help the citizens, but since he was living miles away, only a few made the trip to their house to seek his help."

"What happened to Doña Imelda after her husband passed away?" Diego asked, subtly shifting the topic of the conversation to the mysterious woman. He wondered why his father had not kept in touch with her if Don Tomás had been such a good friend.

"I don't really know. She shunned everyone during her mourning period, even I was refused entrance to her hacienda, and... Well, come to think of it, I never really knew what happened to her. It's as if she disappeared from society, though the Escudero's estate was well kept, and I saw Mateo a few times in town in the past few weeks. She probably returned to Spain with her son for many years, and just came back recently, I would guess."

"Well, we should be going, Father," Diego finally declared, holding back a frustrated grunt. He really did not need more mysteries about Señora Escudero right now. "I'll go check on that house while you gather our vaqueros."

"Cielos! My son suddenly rushing to action? Tonio most certainly has had good influence on you since his return, Diego!" Don Alejandro patted his son's shoulder with a hint of fatherly pride.

If only he knew, thought Diego, gritting his teeth.

* * *

Doctor Jacques Garat stood in the dark room panting, overwhelmed by emotions he could not even begin to understand. The pain was simply unbearable.

Just minutes ago, Deiña had passed away. Thankfully, he had been able to keep his emotional turmoil in check for the time he had been treating her. The few people who had come by to visit had only seen his neutral face, what Jacques considered the asset of any decent physician.

Perspiring from exhaustion, he thought back on all the days spent trying to do everything in his power to keep his wife alive. He was simply not accepting the fact that she had finally passed away. How could God do this to him! How unfair! Not her!

He was silent, but all he wanted to do was scream, something which he had never done before.

Moved by something beyond his willpower, he decided to let go of everything: anger, sadness, fear, hate, desperation, madness... Each and every single one of these feelings took hold of his body, and he started yelling, crying, tearing his shirt like a wild beast, kicking and hitting everything that was in his path. Anything to make the pain go away!

Eventually, the Doctor regained his senses, and realized how foolish his actions had been. The pain still remained, despite all he could do to alleviate it. As if the universe had found another way to mock him, Jacques realized with a snickering laugh that his most prized possession was now lying open on the floor. The hands of the pocket watch had stopped moving, probably from the shock of the fall. The light of the candle flickered in the gold cover of the precious object, and without seeing the words, the doctor read them in a whisper. _A mi amor_...

The physical world was so powerless against the immaterial, and the opposite seemed to be equally futile and ineffectual. Then... Why did Deiña believe so much in the invisible? How could she have so much faith in something that could not be proven, something that could not even save her?

In one last, desperate move, Jacques Garat jumped to the chest of drawers and opened the top one, frantically spilling its content on the floor until the coveted object came into his shaking hands. Slowly, he laid down the velvet box on the tabletop and opened its cover, squinting his eyes at the look of its content. He then carefully picked the diamond necklace up, staring at the jewel with a hatred nurtured by some heinous offense only the most vile criminal could have committed.

After a moment, he turned his head to the side, only to realize with bitterness that a pair of brown eyes had been watching him the whole time.

In silence, he slowly walked to the door and closed it, unable to utter a word. This mourning time was his, and his alone. He would deal with his six-year-old son later.

* * *

Antoine turned to his side with a grunt and rubbed his forehead. The headache reminded him of all those he had previously suffered in Spain, but this one was particularly nasty. This was indeed the first time he had got drunk in many, many months. Distractedly, the soldier felt for the coin in his pocket, palpating its edges with the tips of his fingers.

Lying against a short picket a couple of feet from him, Martínez was snoring faintly, sleeping off his own dose of the whiskey bottle they had shared earlier. Antoine had not really wanted to have a drink with his new _partner_... but better to start out on the right foot if his plan to capture Zorro was to succeed. If they had enough trust to fall asleep in each other's presence, perhaps this would work. It must.

The sun was already below the horizon, where only a faint rosy color provided light. Antoine shivered as a warm gust of wind wrapped him in dust, making his eyes sting. Using his hands as a cover, the young man groaned and tried to hold his breath, making his way to the adobe house to gather his waistcoat and scabbard, which he had shed during the fight with Martínez. He had better hurry; he was supposed to report to the cuartel for night watch.

As he was about to open the door, Antoine heard the distinctive sound of a galloping horse coming his way. Unsure of who would be lurking so far from Los Angeles after sunset, he dashed into the house and pushed the door nearly shut, leaving a slight gap so he could peek at the stranger. He cursed under his breath when he realized Martínez was still outside sleeping, but it was already too late. The horse had come to a stop right in front of the abandoned house.

The rider quickly dismounted and examined the surroundings in a rapid sweep, visibly noting the man lying unconscious, but choosing to ignore him. With assured steps, the figure headed for the abandoned building, and Antoine had barely enough time to swerve around and stick his back to the wall behind the door before it was opened.

With the ease of someone used to walking in the dark, the man headed for the next room, as if he were looking for something specific. Antoine wondered what he could be doing in this abandoned house. He noticed the stranger was not wearing a sword, but he would not run the chance that he were armed with a pistol, thus he held his breath and kept still against the adobe wall.

The figure stopped momentarily and tilted his head to the side, as if thinking of something. Before he could react, Antoine found himself grabbed by the collar.

"Who—?!"

"_Merde_, Diego!"Antoine yelped in surprise. "You almost gave me a heart attack! How did you know I'd be here?" he snapped, grabbing his friend's forearm to shake him loose.

"It was my best guess," the caballero chuckled. "Who's your friend outside?"

"Drinking companion, s'all."

"Sí, that's the faint smell that gave you away, amigo." Diego poked the soldier on the chest. "Found anything interesting?"

"Nothing, really. My father just left me with an old fool's meaningless ramblings, and nothing more than a sour disap— Diego, what's wrong with you?" Even though it was dark, Antoine noticed how his friend seemed agitated, and how his unusually sweaty forehead reflected the faint light.

The tall man pulled back slightly at the question, as if taken by surprise. For a moment he seemed at a loss for words, and he finally sighed deeply.

"Capitán Monastario has been kidnapped," he declared.

"Quoi?!" The news shook the last remnants of Antoine's drunken stupor. "By whom? Why? What happened?"

Diego brushed aside a lock of his hair with a quivering hand. The soldier had never seen him so visibly troubled and shaken.

"From what little Sergeant Garcia told us, it seems the four prisoners escaped, and took with them the Comandante. My father is organizing a search party with his vaqueros, and getting help from the other caballeros as well," he explained in a hurry.

"Diego, how could these four men have escaped from the cuartel?! Zorro must have helped them! It was a trap, he's the one who brought them in the first place! We should never—"

"Listen, I'm fairly sure Zorro has nothing to do with this," Diego said calmly. "He's never—"

"I'm going to catch this outlaw, Diego, I swear!" Antoine blurted, unable to control his anger. "He's not going to get away with this! I have a plan, don't worry. "

"A plan? What do you mean, Tonio?"

Antoine could hear the worry and reluctance in his friend's voice, and wondered why he did not offer his help right away, or simply get excited, like he used to do in Madrid.

"It's all right, he stands no chance. I can't tell you right now, I have to get back to the cuartel, I'm needed there," the soldier quickly finished his sentence and headed to the back of the house to pick up his belongings, leaving a puzzled Diego behind for a moment.

Antoine wondered what could have shaken his friend so deeply. From what he had observed since his arrival in Los Angeles, not many seemed to hold the Comandante in high esteem, but he would never have thought the disappearance of Capitán Monastario to be so dreadful to the caballero. He, for one, was exceedingly furious. Mainly because he felt guilty and responsible for not having been there when it happened, despite the fact that it was the Comandante who had given him the rest of the afternoon off. Willing his anger inside, Antoine clenched his hands into fists. For now, no matter the reasons, he would have to set the matter of Diego's strange behavior aside.

The young soldier finally spotted his waistcoat lying on the ground, half covering his empty scabbard. He picked them up, promptly brushing the dirt off with his left hand. As he turned around to leave, something caught his eye on the opposite wall of the room, stopping him. With a frown, he cursed under his breath, wondering how he could have missed this odd detail during his scrutiny of the abandoned house.

Perplexed, approaching slowly with a growing feeling of excitement gripping his chest, Antoine realized that something had been scribbled on the wall, and that he could read the characters in the _dark_.

_The other ghosts of this dirty place..._ Martínez's words came back to memory as he stared at the very faint glow.

"Tonio, what is taking you so long?" Antoine heard Diego enter the room, his steps a clear indication of his impatience. "Why are you—"

"Diego." The tone of the soldier's voice made the caballero stop fretting about his behavior. "I think there's something you should see."

With a sigh, the tall man made his way in the dark to the wall.

"This place is pitch black, I don't see any—what _is_ this?" he exclaimed with disbelief.

"That's the time my mother passed away..." Antoine whispered. "1h17."

* * *

_**Next**: More loops are closed in the past (yes, there will eventually be an end to the present and past story), Mateo wonders what is going on with his mother, Diego is getting weaker, and Antoine must come up with a plan to find his Capitán AND capture Zorro!  
_

_Note: this is not a ghost story(!) though the vibes coming off this chapter may seem like it's heading this way (as the poor betas told me, thanks for the HUGE help guys!!!). I thought of rewriting the part with Jacques, but finally decided against it - it was written while I was high on cold medication :) I just find that memory cracks me up, I don't know what took me to decide to write while I was sick... :D _


	14. Not a chapter: note to readers

Hiatus...

I am so mad because I misplaced all my notes for this story. I have been looking everywhere for my notebook and I cannot find it. I am really, really pissed.  
I remember where I wanted to go and all with the plot and resolution, but I fear that if I want to continue this story and bring it to a conclusion, I will have to reinvent the wheel.  
Apologies to all who were expecting a new chapter by me posting this message, but i felt I owed some sort of explanation.

I will continue digging for that notebook, but I fear it might have been thrown away when I moved. :(  
Gah! *pout of intense frustration*


End file.
